


oh, try to break me down

by LightningRidgeBlackOpal



Series: Untitled Infernal AU [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 'My Frat Summoned A Demon' AU, Blood, Character Death, College AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Infernal AU, M/M, Multi, Religious themes and imagery, Violence, demon shane, fratboy!ryan, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningRidgeBlackOpal/pseuds/LightningRidgeBlackOpal
Summary: “Come on dude, this is serious! They sat down there and summoned a demon. Like, who does that first of all. And now all this weird shit is happening! I don’t think you summon a demon and just get like, a chill roommate.”





	1. falling asleep

**Author's Note:**

> This idea sparked joy.
> 
> Inspired by some [art](https://lightningridgeblackopal.tumblr.com/post/183716985331/bellairestrella-lightningridgeblackopal) on tumblr and also @abovetheruins because we've been talking about this AU for weeks and weeks.

Ok, so maybe Ryan had made some mistakes in his life. Ratting out Johnny Belos to Mrs. Johnston in fourth grade? A mistake. Moving so far away for college? A mistake. Breaking up with his ex by sending her a text at three in the morning from another girl’s apartment? Definite mistake. Up until now, though, he hasn’t thought that joining a fraternity was one of them. He’d been far from home, and didn’t know anyone, and figured it couldn’t hurt, really. What’s the harm?

Now though, in this moment, he’s looking at his brothers sitting on the floor in a circle in the basement. The scene is lit only by candlelight. There’s a circle drawn on the floor. Belatedly, Ryan thinks that instead of inspecting what’s going on he should be heading upstairs and moving all of his stuff out of the house. No one says anything for a long time, the circle of guys staring at Ryan on the stairs and Ryan staring back. “We just summoned a demon,” Gabe says and Ryan takes a step back up one stair on reflex.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Ryan asks, but then the temperature drops significantly. There’s a strong electric smell in the air, like ozone. The candles flicker ominously. Nothing else happens.

“We tried to summon a demon, anyway,” Andrew says. Ryan laughs a little, hysterical. “What the fucking why would you do that?” Ryan asks.

A few of the boys shrug, and then they stand up and walk away as the candles blow out. “Who cares? Demons aren’t real so it didn’t do anything,” Gabe says as he passes Ryan. They all funnel by him, leave him there on the stairs. He feels the hairs on his neck standing up, and in the darkness, back in the corner of the room, he swears he can see two pinprick lights glinting from the light of the open door behind him; two eyes. He heads up the stairs and does his best to forget about it.

See, he’s always believed in ghosts and demons and spooky shit. He’s always been terrified of the paranormal and staunchly refused to dabble in any of it. It frightens him so fully that he tosses and turns all night and he swears he can hear something bumping around downstairs the whole time.

Life continues on as normal. At least as normal as frat life gets. He has to call the plumber when Andrew gets his foot stuck in the toilet, and he has to try to study while a party rages on around him, and he walks into his room and has to kick a freshman out who was trying to hook up with some girl on his bed. That last one is how Ryan finds himself back in the basement three nights after he found his brothers down here. “How did I end up living with a cult?” he asks himself idly, while he throws his sheets and bedding into the washer. He dumps in the soap and slams the lid down and hits start; his fist poised and ready to bang against the side because otherwise it refuses to start properly and just shakes, but it kicks on by itself and it’s more quiet than he remembers, so he drops his arm to his side loosely.

“Someone finally fixed the washer? Damn. We’ve been complaining about that for months,” he says. He hears a chuckle behind him and spins, hands up defensive.

“Chill out, dude,” Gabe says. “It’s just me, fuck. What’s got you so jumpy?” Ryan doesn’t bother to answer. He raises an eyebrow and holds his hand out toward the circle still drawn on the floor. “Oh don’t tell me you believe in ghosts,” Gabe says, stretching out the vowel in ‘ghosts’ and warbling his voice around. Ryan shoves past him and walks up the stairs.

“Fuck you, dude,” he says over his shoulder. Gabe just laughs.

*

He mostly forgets about it for a couple weeks. Only reminded when he goes down to grab something or do laundry and sees the scuffed up, fading chalk circle. The little white candles stuck still in their own wax. He’s studying for a midterm when he hears it again: The bumping. The shuffling noises of something in the basement. He tries to ignore it, but something keeps ticking away in his mind until he tosses his book to the foot of his bed and walks over to his door. He opens it, and sees Andrew and Lloyd and Daniel gathered in the hallway. They’re all looking towards the door to the downstairs.

“You guys hear that too?” Ryan asks and Lloyd jumps, surprised.

“Fuck, dude. You scared the hell out of me. Yes we hear that, what the hell is down there?” he says, a hand over his heart. Ryan smirks, glad that he’s not the only one shaken up by it.

“Maybe it’s the demon,” Andrew jokes. Ryan’s about to scold him but then there’s a louder bang; closer somehow; just one solid knock against the wood of the wall. They all jump, gather closer together in the hall.

“What the hell is going on?” Gabe asks from the stairs, heading down and rubbing his arm across his face sleepily. “You dicks making all that noise?” he asks, but then there’s another loud bang from downstairs and he freezes, halfway through the living room, eyes stuck on the door.

“Danny, call campus security. I think those Sigma douchebags are trying to fuck with us again,” Gabe says. Danny doesn’t move. No one does. There’s the unmistakable sound of footsteps walking up the basement stairs; stomp stomp stomp; the fourth step squeaks a bit like it always does. Over the last year Ryan has completely tuned out that squeaky step but right now it sounds like a scream. Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Whoever it is reaches the top of the stairs. They’re all still. The four of them in the hallway, staring at the door, and Gabe halfway between the door and them. Ryan’s hardly breathing; feels like he might faint. Nothing happens for a long time. The footsteps don’t walk back down. Gabe opens the door, and no one is there. They can see straight down into the basement, can see the circle of candles still sitting where they were.

“Fuck that,” Ryan says. He packs up some clothes and heads over to a friends’ place for the night, and doesn’t say anything else to the guys until he gets back the next day.

*

“Ryan, chill. Security came by and checked it out and we cleaned up all the candles and stuff and there was nothing there. It’s just an old building, dude.” Ryan pulls his phone away from his ear and gives it a look like it says everything he can think of. The coffee shop he’s sitting in bustles quietly around him.

“Gabe are you kidding me? Those were footsteps, man. **Footsteps on the stairs**. Old building?” he says when he pulls the phone back. Gabe just laughs on the other end.

“Whatever, Bergara. Whatever you say. So the frat’s haunted. It’s almost Halloween so we can throw a killer party now.”

Ryan hangs up, refuses to even dignify that with a response. Until he sends a text ten minutes later, unable to concentrate on his notes spread out on the table in front of him, says, ‘fucking fOOTSTEPS Gabe’.

Regardless, the rest of his stuff is there and he’s going to have to go back eventually, so he does. It’s the same, walking up to the door and walking inside, as it was when he left it. It looks the same, anyway. There’s a heaviness in the air that makes his breath come a little short, and somehow every room feels huge, looming around him and making him feel tiny. His room feels fine, so he mostly stays in there for a couple days. When he leaves for class it’s straight out the door and aside from the bathroom he avoids everywhere in the house like it’s on fire.

Finally, at the end of his first week back, he has to do laundry. He’s been dreading it, hoping the energy would dispel before he was forced down the stairs, but he’s out of clothes and doesn’t want to drag his hamper all the way to the laundromat. So down he goes.

Even though it had been cleaned up, Ryan can still see the chalk circle and the sharp lines and angles inside of it burned into his eyes like an afterimage. It makes his skin crawl. The odd energy is strongest down here, he notes while he tosses clothes into the washer as fast as he can. He can feel eyes on his back. He can feel panic like a spider skittering up his spine. He shivers. He can see his breath clouding in front of him in the chill.

He pushes start and turns to leave when he freezes. The candles are set up in a circle again, right where they had been. They couldn’t have been there when he walked through, there’s no way. He would have walked right through the circle and knocked at least one over.There is no way to reason this away and it steals the breath from his lungs. He still hasn’t moved and he fears that if he tries his legs will give out on him. Then there’s the thumping noise again, a bang against the wall. He flees on autopilot, taking the stairs two at a time until he bursts out the door and slams himself back against it as it closes to catch his breath.

“The fuck is your problem?” he hears, and he turns in a daze to stare at Danny. Wordlessly, he opens the door a bit and peaks down to see if the candles are still there. He points, and Danny steps over to look down. “Woah,” he says. Ryan closes the door again and stares his friend down like a stranger.

“They weren’t there when I took my laundry down,” he manages to say, “they appeared right behind me.” Then he turns and walks into his room and slams the door shut.

He waits until Andrew gets home from work and asks him to go down and throw his stuff into the dryer. Then he forgets about it, until he wakes up the next morning and his hamper is there, full of his dry clothes, still warm, right in front of the door in his room. His door is still locked.

*

He starts spending less time at the house, goes out with his friends from class and finds excuses to crash on their couches after drinks. Eventually, though, Ned looks like he’s going to stab him in his sleep so he breaks and tells him the whole story.

“Wait, your hamper was _in_ your room?” he asks and Ryan nods solemn. “Fuck,” Ned says and Ryan chokes out a laugh, nods again.

“My door was still locked dude. I bought and installed that lock and I have the only key. I literally can’t explain it,” Ryan says and Ned shrugs before taking a sip of his beer.

“Well, it sounds pretty nice if it’s supposed to be a demon,” he says and Ryan shifts back away from him, says, “what the fuck-” before Ned continues on, “I mean think about it. It fixed your laundry and brought you your clothes so you didn’t have to go back in the basement. Seems pretty chill.”

“Yeah, but it also keeps scaring me!” Ryan defends and Ned laughs. “I’m literally thinking about moving out dude, fuck the frat. They’ve been corrupted by a demonic influence.”

Ned cracks up, nearly spilling beer on the floor before he blindly reaches over and sets it on the table. “Corrupted by… Ryan oh my god are you listening to yourself?”

Ryan’s known Ned for years, ever since junior year of high school, but right now he’s not in the mood to laugh. “Come on dude, this is serious! They sat down there and summoned a demon. Like, who does that first of all. And now all this weird shit is happening! I don’t think you summon a demon and just get like, a chill roommate.”

Ned shrugs, says, “I dunno. Never tried it. Maybe he could take a look at my faucet.” Ryan just finishes his beer and leaves, rolling his eyes.

The only problem is, now he isn’t sure where to go. He doesn’t want to go back to the house, but it’s late and he isn’t sure where to go instead. He’s a bit unsteady on his feet from the beer, and the chill is getting stronger as October continues on, so he heaves a sigh and he walks home.

The building seems bigger, somehow. He stares it down for a long while, until he’s sober enough to succumb to the chill and he shivers up the stairs and into the front door. From the couch, Lloyd grins at him and says, “hey dude. Welcome home. Gabe’s been asking about you.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, knows that he hasn’t texted him so it can’t be that serious, but he walks up the stairs and heads to his room anyway. He can hear soft music coming from inside, and he knocks lightly. Gabe sighs and says, “what?” from inside so Ryan opens the door and steps in. “Oh there’s my little scaredy cat,” he says but it comes off as dull, lazy. Not even fully teasing, just tired.“I was wondering when you’d come home. Are you… are you really that scared of all this?” he asks.

“Obviously. I keep hearing shit, weird shit keeps happening, you summoned a demon. Pretty clear cause and effect to me,” Ryan says. Gabe rolls his eyes. “Look, whatever. I don’t care if you don’t believe me but there is no way that laundry got into my room without me knowing. I have the only key, Gabe,” he continues.

Gabe shrugs, says, “Ryan I made a copy of that key three months ago for safety reasons. You handed it to me yourself and I gave it back the next day.”

Ryan just stands still a moment, but then he hazards a guess, “but you didn’t do it, did you? Bring the hamper to my room.”

“No.” Gabe says. “But someone could have.”

“Oh come on. So someone broke into your room to get a key that only we know about to bring me my laundry? Who? Fucking Lloyd? He can hardly do his own laundry.”

“I know, but all I’m saying is that it isn’t entirely impossible. Like, there is an alternate theory to your demon-”

“ _My demon_?”

“-just chill out dude. You’re bringing down the morale. Yes, it’s weird. Yes, the footsteps were weird. But weird doesn’t mean evil, right off the bat.”

Ryan leaves the conversation feeling like he’s missed something, like he’s being pranked on TV maybe. When he passes by he can hear the dryer humming faintly from downstairs. He walks to his room and lays down to stare at his ceiling before he realizes _he said footsteps_. _He admitted they were footsteps_.

*

Things calm down for a bit after that. But Ryan can’t shake the feeling that something is just building up. He goes to classes and he takes his midterm, but the whole time there’s some blade hanging above him. He’s home alone one night when his anxiety bubbles over.

See, everyone else was heading to a party, but it was at fucking Sigma and ever since last quarter Ryan wouldn’t be caught dead there. The guys are jerks, the people they know are jerks, and the whole vibe just sucks. So he’s laying on his bed and watching a movie while he works half-assed on a paper. Then he hears it. The thumping around. The noises in the basement. He ignores it for an hour, but then he hears something in the hallway and he panics.

He reaches down under his bed and grabs a baseball bat, thankful that he just threw it there instead of putting it away. He has the number for campus security on his phone in a second, thumb over the call button. He takes two cautious steps forward because there’s nowhere to hide in his room. Then there’s three knocks on his door. His thumb presses down. The phone rings. Someone answers. “There’s someone in the frat house. Alpha Sigma Rho.” The three knocks again. The door opens. Slowly. No one there. He steps into the hall, his phone hanging loosely in his fist at his side. Three knocks. Basement door. Steps on the stairs. Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. The fourth step doesn’t squeak. Ryan pulls on the basement door and it swings open. It’s empty. He runs.

He runs.

He gets back, panting, just as the two security guards are leaving. They’re clearly confused, talking amongst themselves, and then Ryan gets their attention.

“What the hell?” one of them says.

“I called you guys. There was someone walking around and knocking on doors,” Ryan says and the guy who spoke gives him an odd look.

“There wasn’t anyone in there, kid,” he says. His quiet partner nods in agreement. Ryan doesn’t even bother to respond, just walks in and closes the door behind him. He waits in the living room, staring at the front door, until the boys get back hours later.

“Ryan? What the hell dude, you look awful,” Gabe says.

“We need to do something about the fucking demon,” he says. Gabe goes to say something, moves to argue, but Ryan isn’t having it. “No dude, I’m over it. Creepy shit keeps fucking happening and we either do something or I’m out.”

“Fine. What do you suggest?” Gabe asks.

“Don’t even think of suggesting a priest,” Danny says.

Someone knocks on the front door, and Ryan bounces up, manic.

“Ryan who-” Gabe says, before Ryan pushes past him and pulls the door open.

*

“I sense a powerful energy here,” Florida says. Gabe rolls his eyes and opens his mouth but Ryan elbows him. “Something not of this world,” she continues.

Ryan met Florida last year in an astronomy course. He spent some time hanging out in her apartment, which mostly involved drinking mead and listening to cool music, but occasionally entailed her giving Ryan a tarot reading.

\---

_“What I do isn’t magic, Ryan. I’m just using random chance to select some cards, and then interpreting the meaning of those cards against the order I drew them and letting the universe do the rest,” she said. She was looking up at him with her deep green eyes and her short black hair ruffling lightly in the breeze. “It’s no different then looking up at the stars and seeing shapes, or seeing something in an ink blot. It’s all just subjective.”_

_Ryan shrugged, said, “alright, whatever.”_

\---

“It’s a very powerful energy,” she says again.

“You already said that- ow!” Gabe says, while Ryan elbows him harder.

“Where do you sense the energy?” Ryan asks and Florida just points directly towards the basement door. Ryan looks over, vindicated, until she says, “also in that room,” and points toward his bedroom.

“What? No… my room’s been the only place weird stuff hasn’t happened.”

Florida just shrugs, runs a hand over her short, bright pink hair. The roots are growing in dark. It looks purposeful, somehow. Like maybe she re-shaved her head at just the right time and hasn’t dyed it yet so it would grow an inch and look like this. “Well it’s spending a lot of time in there,” she says. Ryan’s face goes pale. “But mostly in the basement. I’m seeing circles. Circles and candlelight. Did you dumb jocks do some ouija bullshit or something?” she asks.

“Shit,” Lloyd says and Ryan is dreading whatever Florida is about to say when the knocking starts up again. She jumps, startled a bit, but apparently all the brothers have gotten used to it and they just stare over at the door. She walks over to it and the rest of them follow. She opens the door and stares down the stairs, apprehension in every line of her posture. She walks woodenly down them, and the rest of them follow. Ryan feels his heart in his gut.

\---

_“Hmmmmm. This is a really interesting spread. Did you have a question in mind when we started?” she asked. Ryan just shrugged. He hadn’t, not anything conscious anyway. “Well something really big is going to happen to you, I think. Like, life changing. Your paradigms will shift, and it will lead to enormous personal growth. But you’ll be resistant at first.”_

_“Whatever,” Ryan said. He took a deep swallow of the sweet mead and they shared a laugh._

\---

“Whoever is down here, make your presence known,” Florida says. Even Ryan has to admit that the voice she’s using sounds a bit put on. It has the rest of the guys’ rapt attention. “Did you guys literally try a summoning ritual?” she asks suddenly. No one responds. Then the light cuts. Several people jump but it’s impossible to know who. Ryan is stuck still like a statue. “Uh, I said known,” Florida says, in a much less hokey and much more bored tone, “turning off the lights is like the opposite of known.”

The light turns back on after a second, like it was thinking about what she said and was considering its options. Ryan notices with a sudden sharp realization that he’s standing on the fourth step and it feels much sturdier somehow, and it didn’t creak when any of them went down.

“What do you want?” Gabe asks, and Florida hums; in agreement, in thought, Ryan can’t tell.

“More like what do _you_ want,” a voice says from the couch. All of their attention snaps over and Ryan sees nothing but pure white for a second until he realizes that he slammed his eyes tightly shut.

“You buffoons summoned me,” a guy says. Ryan opens his eyes and nearly faints. There’s a man sitting on the couch in the middle of the basement. He has short, fluffy brown hair and kind eyes and a rather thin face. He looks boyish in a way. A smirk on his lips. He has two horns, fairly short but thick and pointed, like they’re still growing, and _how is that the last thing you notice_ , Ryan thinks to himself. But there’s another surprise, because when he lifts his hand to his mouth and a cigarette lights itself between his lips Ryan sees that he has long, teardrop shaped claws. Pure black, and the black seeming to fade directly into the skin of his long, thin fingers. “Sorry about the cigarettes,” he says, “the smoke reminds me of home.”

“Holy shit,” Florida says, “did you fucks summon a fucking demon?”

The demon holds out its hands like, ‘ya got me,’ and its smirk deepens; there’s a dimple in its cheek. Ryan is having trouble controlling his thoughts; this all seems so much like a dream that he’s mostly just waiting to wake up. “So, now that we’re all in the same room together, what exactly did you ‘fucks’ as she said summon me for?”

No one speaks. The demon continues smoking its - his? - cigarette. “Come on, boys, I’m on a schedule here.”

Gabe coughs into his fist, and all eyes are on him. “Uh,” he says. “We were bored. We wanted to chill with a demon or whatever.”

“Oh my God,” Ryan says. It’s the first thing he’s said and it just slips out automatically.

“Not quite,” the demon says. It - he? - grins. “But, on the bright side, quote unquote ‘chill with demon’ is something I can certainly accommodate. You have any booze?” Lloyd walks over to the little freezer down here and pulls out a fifth of whiskey, walks up like approaching a bear and offers it to the demon. “Oh sick. I love whiskey,” it says.

There’s suddenly an ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch, and it flicks the cigarette so that the ash lands perfectly in the center without looking over. It opens the bottle and takes a swig - though the amount in the bottle remains unchanged - and then hands it back to Lloyd. He looks like he might faint, much like Ryan feels.

*

Ryan just sits on the stairs and watches as the demon interacts with his brothers. He is now almost entirely convinced that they’ve all actually been a cult the entire time. Florida falls in to sit next to him, runs her hand over her hair again and then huffs a laugh. “Holy shit,” she says in her low, soft, coarse voice. “That is not what I expected when you called me.”

“I’m having trouble… I don’t… what the fuck, Florida?”

“Right? An Actual Fucking Demon,” she says. “Anyway, good luck. Have fun or whatever. He seems pretty chill but I’ve got shit to do.”

“Wait what? Can’t you get rid of it?” he says, true concern seeping through him. She just tips her head back and laughs, and then walks up the stairs with her long skirt billowing behind her.

Ryan spends hours on the stairs, unmoving, just watching the other guys talk to it and drink and hang out. The demon looks over at Ryan and winks. It sends a shiver up his spine insidious and needle thin like a spiderweb. “You’re awful quiet over there,” it says and Ryan shrugs. “My mom told me not to talk to demons,” he quips and the demon grins.

“I think she said strangers, but fair enough. I’m Shane,” it - Shane?- says. Shane holds out a hand toward him and he hesitates, but something pulls him closer and closer until he takes it.

“Ryan,” he says and Shane grins again. “Ryan,” he repeats, like he’s savoring the taste, like drinking mead. “Well it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ryan,” he says.

Ryan seems to snap back into himself and he jerks his hand away like he’s been burned. He notices that Shane no longer has claws, or horns, that he looks like any other dude. But not, there’s still something there in his eyes and in the twist of his smile; something insidious, just behind the face like a mask.

“I should get to bed,” Ryan says and the demon looks disappointed. It’s there and gone in a second, like he hadn’t meant to show it. “Well I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Shane says. Ryan suddenly feels more uneasy than he has all night.

“Stay out of my room,” he says. And then he leaves.


	2. dreaming deeply

Shane spends a few days mostly just hanging out. He stays inside the house, even when everyone leaves for class. For some reason, he takes to fixing things up around the house and it hits Ryan that he’s the one who fixed the laundry and the stair. It feels more concrete suddenly, like the whole experience has finally settled in and he recognizes it as real.

To say that Ryan is conflicted would be an enormous understatement. He is repelled by his fear just as much as his curiosity is pulling him closer in. Like him and Shane are both magnets that keep alternating polarities randomly. All of it is sitting awkwardly inside of him and pushing jagged against him. He does his best to avoid Shane, to ignore when he’s sitting in the living room with the guys and watching TV with an interest Ryan can only describe as abstract. To ignore when Shane catches his eye and grins. He doesn’t know what to do, isn’t sure if he can do anything. So he spends the days in class and he spends the nights in his room, and he mostly avoids the weird way that Shane just seems to fit in with the guys, like he’s been there for a while like Ryan and Andrew and Lloyd.

He has music playing in his headphones while he works on an essay when he hears a knock on his door. He glances over, but hesitates. Three knocks. Automatically he pulls the headphones out but doesn’t pause the song, just walks to his door and undoes the lock and pulls it open.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Shane says, and Ryan almost slams the door shut. “I was just wondering why you seem to think I’m going to murder you.” Ryan just stares at him, long enough that he can see the moment he loses his bravado and the smile on his face shifts into a look of confusion. “It’s just… I don’t know. You seem alright, right? And I haven’t murdered anyone yet, so why you seem so convinced it would be _you_ out of anyone I’m not sure. I’m choosing to believe it has more to do with your self esteem than your view of me, for pride’s sake.”

“Pride’s sake,” Ryan says, halfway between a question and statement. Shane laughs.

“Gotta love the classics,” he says and Ryan is still so unsure about everything that his body can’t decide what to do.

“Well okay. I just wanted to voice that concern, because otherwise I’m quite enjoying it here,” Shane says. Ryan shuts the door in his face, and after a second’s hesitation he locks it.

*

Ryan stares morose down into his jack and coke, and Ned stares at him from across the table. They’re sitting in a dingy booth in a dingy bar just off campus. “Excuse me, an Actual Demon is literally living in your frat house _and you are just now bringing this up_?” Ned says. Ryan shushes him, looks around at the few people scattered about, and waits a moment before speaking in a low voice.

“I’m afraid everyone’s going to think I’m crazy,” he says and Ned makes an awkward gesture, says, “well,” before Ryan sets his head on the table like defeat.

“Hey, man. It can’t be that bad. No one’s dead, right?” Ned says.

“Why is everyone acting like that’s the bar?” Ryan replies and Ned laughs.

“Who else knows?”

“Just Florida, I guess.”

“What did she have to say?”

“She said he was chill.”

Ned laughs again, and Ryan would typically be right there with him. He’s always been able to appreciate the absurd. But everything about this is settling weird. It isn’t quite adding up. He can’t fight the paranoia. Ned just shrugs, and they drink their drinks, and Ryan doesn’t feel any better about anything.

He takes the long way home, all of the jack in his stomach keeping the chill at bay, but he can’t help but hesitate outside. He feels just like he did back in early October, the same trepidation and hesitation. The same fear, still holding on. He shivers, and then he walks up and in the front door. The first thing he notices is how warm it is, how cozy the room feels. The second thing he notices is Shane, and the fact that Ryan sees him before the entire rest of the frat sitting in the living room should probably concern him more than it does at the moment. The third thing he notices is that the heat is radiating off of Shane like he’s some kind of a star.

Gabe looks over from the couch and laughs, says, “look. Free heat. Now we can stop bugging maintenance to fix ours.”

“What is it, a furnace?” Shane asks, tipping his head back to look at Gabe. He nods. Ryan is staring at Shane’s long neck, his throat bared. “I could probably take care of it, let me take a look tomorrow.”

“Are we just fully going to accept this and let a demon move in?” Ryan asks the room. Everyone shrugs.

“He hasn’t broken any of the rules yet,” Gabe says. Ryan walks into his room and locks the door behind him. He suddenly remembers that the building is old, and drafty, because compared to the living room it’s freezing. He bundles up under blankets, and tries not to think about the way his eyes were drawn to him. He tries to listen to music, but eventually he gives up and goes to bed.

He lays there for hours, shivering in the cold, tossing and turning. He can hear when everyone goes to bed. Can hear Shane sitting out in the living room for a while before getting up, walking to the kitchen, and then hesitating at the end of the hall before heading down the stairs into the basement. The whole time Ryan holds his breath, waiting it out, shivering in the cold. Octobers are usually pretty mild, but Ryan feels downright frigid.

*

Another week passes, and it’s almost Halloween. For the first time in his life, Ryan isn’t looking forward to it at all. He has an odd feeling, like things are coming to a head. Shane has been in the house for three weeks now. Three knocks; three weeks; bad things come in threes. So he’s apprehensive. So he’s concerned. He’s sitting out on Florida’s balcony with her. Today is unseasonably warm and sunny for October so they’re sipping on some wine and enjoying it.

“I just can’t shake the feeling something bad is gonna happen,” he says. She looks over at him but doesn’t say anything. “Like, this whole week I’ve been dreading Saturday. You know me, I love Halloween. And on a Saturday? Score. But I just feel like I’m waiting for the gallows.”

“Fuck,” she says, “that’s some Bauhaus ass goth shit, Ryan. Maybe you’re the one being corrupted by the demonic influence.” Ryan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. Maybe he is. How would he know? How much of Shane is really him and how much is just a charming veneer? “I just have a hard time believing that a bad guy would bring you your laundry,” she says and Ryan laughs.

“Everyone keeps saying that he’s so chill. But like, of course he is. Demons are supposed to corrupt, right? Why would he be all scary off the bat?”

“Oh my god Ryan. You are overthinking literally everything in your life. Just accept it; you’re living in some weird 90’s teen movie. ‘Don’t Tell Mom We Summoned A Demon’ or something. By coincidence and hijinks you ended up with the chillest demon ever and at the end you’ll learn a lesson about… I don’t know, True Friendship or something.”

Ryan laughs again, laughs more than he has all month. “Don’t judge a book by the cover,” he offers. Florida laughs, says, “now you’re gettin it.”

He feels at ease, a bit, until he gets home. He sobers up quickly when he sees Gabe on the front porch smoking a cigarette. Gabe only smokes in emergencies. “What’s going on?” Ryan asks as he approaches, and Gabe’s attention startles up from the grain of the wood porch.

“Fucking Sigma Alpha Epsilon. Tried to break in and then started a fight. I put the boys on lockdown. I’m not having another fucking complaint while I run this sinking ship. Not a single fucking one.”

Ryan feels incensed. He’s always hated those Sigma assholes ever since the first time he met them. Some people, some people you can just tell. You get a vibe and even if you try not to judge your gut tells you everything they’re going to do before they do it. “Fucking Smegma Asshole… Epsilon…” Ryan says and Gabe laughs.

“Couldn’t think of anything for ‘E’?” Gabe asks, and Ryan just laughs and shakes his head. “Explosion,” Gabe offers.

“Perfect. Put it in the charter. They are only to be referred to as such from here on.”

Gabe laughs again, deeply, and snuffs out the butt of his cigarette. “You know, I’m only here for a few more months. I sure didn’t expect my last year to go like this.”

“Which part? The sinking ship or the demon on board?”

“Either. Both.”

Ryan walks inside, Gabe right behind him, and he relishes in the warmth of the living room, the warmth of the kitchen while he gets something to eat. He doesn’t see Shane anywhere, but he feels his presence.

He walks into his room, and he locks the door, and he lays down to get some good, solid sleep in his big bed, somehow more comfortable than last night.

*

In a weird way, things settle in for the rest of the week. When he sees Shane around the house he offers a polite nod and smile, but otherwise tries to ignore the issue. But then it’s Saturday night.

The house is packed full; the noise of it, the heat of it; all of it overwhelming. Ryan is breathing it in, the music and the people around him and the knowledge that his door is locked safe (and the unease of the knowledge that at his own insistence, Shane is locked up in there away from the people and still the frat’s little secret). He feels the bass in his chest, the bottle in his hand a steady weight. It’s wild, all of it. It’s primal in way that feels so freeing. He’s won three games of beer pong tonight alone. He stumbles into the upstairs bathroom and finds some guys that he thinks he recognizes from an English class who are smoking a blunt and joins them until he wanders away to find out who requested _his song_ and kiss them.

He wanders outside, sees a backyard full of people. Immediately his eyes are drawn to Shane; in the center like a beacon, like all the lights were staged for him. He marches over, infuriated.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a vague attempt at a pointed whisper. Shane’s attention startles from the girls he was talking to and his eyes slide half-lidded when he recognizes Ryan. “There was an agreement,” he says.

“Excuse us, ladies,” Shane says and the girls giggle, walk away to find someone else to talk to. “They just needed a smoke, Ryan. And I-” he reaches into the pocket of his peacoat. He looks like Dillinger, all dressed up for Halloween. He pulls out a cigarette and it lights as it reaches his lips “-have plenty.”

“Shut up. Get back in my room, Shane. I specifically asked you to-”

“Well you’re not in charge. Gabe summoned me and he’s the leader of the frat. You don’t make the rules here, Ry,” Shane says plainly. Ryan shushes him and he rolls his eyes, petulant like a child. “Oh fine, kid. Take me back to your room,” he teases. Ryan grabs his arm to do just that. Then everything goes to shit.

As soon as he touches Shane’s arm he feels an incredible chill come over him. The ringing in his ears reminds him of screaming. He looks back at Shane, shocked, and notices that Shane’s eyes are locked off to the side, toward the back gate. Ryan follows his eyeline and his gut lurches when he sees a bunch of Sigma douchebags strolling in. He becomes suddenly and acutely aware of Gabe standing at his side, rigid and shaking in anger. Ryan says, “Shane don’t-” and then the chill running through him flares so numbingly cold that his hand feels the heat of Shane like a burning fire; like holding a hot coal. His fingers tighten around his arm. 

Shane’s eyes slip pitch black, for just a second, and Ryan feels oppressive energy like a great wave washing over him. The guys from Sigma stop dead and look around confused. Then they’re screaming.

It lasts a second and somehow hours. They stand there screaming like something has just become so incredibly clear to them that the illumination is staggering. Then they abruptly stop and turn to flee. All eyes are on the empty spot just inside the back gate, except Ryan’s. His gaze is on Shane, and Shane is looking right back at him. “Inside, now,” he says and Shane follows without a word, Gabe just behind.

“Are you fucking insane?” Ryan asks, looking at Gabe once the three of them are in his room.

“Well that’s not fair-” Shane starts but the two men turn to stare him down and he shuts up, looking contrite; cowed. It’s not a role Ryan has seen him play yet. “You’re on thin fucking ice, dude,” Gabe says and Ryan throws his hands up, exasperated.

“Thin ice? Thin ice, Gabe? Are you kidding me?” he demands. Gabe just shrugs.

“What do you want me to do, exactly?” he asks and Ryan crosses his arms roughly.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Ryan asks Shane, and he looks up startled from the ground.

“I apologize, I should have stayed put, I should have listened to you, no one knows I did anything.” Shane says, rote, like he’d been planning his speech all along.

“What did you mean when you first showed yourself? You said you were on a schedule,” Ryan says. Shane looks surprised by the question, like he hadn’t expected anyone to remember.

“Well…” Shane starts. “It’s a long story. I was in the neighborhood when you guys did the summoning. College is great place to gather up negative energy, you know. And I figured since I was around I would respond. Save you boys the trouble of getting one of the Nasties. Typically something like this, a college party or some high school slumber party, you show up and do some bumps and cut the lights and it’s a wrap. Kids spooked, you’ve got a bit of power from all the, whatever, emotional energy, you pop back down and move on. But you were interesting so I sent back word that I’d be taking a leave of absence for a bit so I could check it out.”

“Leave of absence?” Ryan prods, faintly. “It’s like a job?” Gabe asks.

“I guess. I’m a busy guy, I’ve got business to attend to. I thought I could use some free time.”

Gabe and Ryan are both just staring at him, until they turn to stare at each other. “I’m gonna kick everyone out. You two wait here,” Gabe says. He sounds unsure, and it’s the first time Ryan’s ever heard that in his voice. He leaves, and then Shane and him are alone for the first time. Since the laundry incident.

“This probably isn’t the time,” Shane says and Ryan cuts him off, says, “it’s really not,” but Shane just continues on, “oh well. Here it is anyway. I’m not very pleased with your reluctance to admit that you’re judging me too harshly. Tonight’s events aside, anyway, I haven’t done a single thing to harm anyone. I _like_ you guys. You are fascinating. Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I’m… I don’t know, one dimensional.”

“One demon-sional,” Ryan quips, automatically. Shane laughs. It’s a lovely sound; really, the whole of him is lovely. His boyish face and the long frame of him and his voice. _If he weren’t evil_ … Ryan thinks before catching himself. Shane looks over at him like he’d spoken out loud. “I guess you’re partly right,” he says. “You aren’t the worst guy I’ve met. You weren’t even the worst guy at this party. But I just can’t put my trust into… a demon. Everything I’ve ever been taught tells me not to and I can’t just let go of that just because you seem like a great guy.”

“Great? Wow. I’m gonna keep that one,” Shane jokes. Ryan laughs, nervously. “Here’s my last pitch,” Shane says, “and then I’ll drop it entirely and you decide what we do from here on out. I want you to consider that everything you have access to, as a human, is purely from one perspective. You know nothing about what it’s like on my side, only what people different from me have told you about me. I’m not going to sit here and say I’m some angel, obviously. But I am a multifaceted individual. Just like you. I can be cruel, and I can be kind, and I can be funny or vicious or loving. That’s it.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything, just sits on his bed while Shane sits at his desk. Eventually Gabe comes back in and sighs, exhausted. “You, downstairs,” he says to Shane. He tosses a look at Ryan, a question, but Ryan doesn’t meet his gaze. He sighs heavily, dramatized; everything he does is dramatized; and he leaves the room and heads downstairs like it’s a chore.

“I’m going to go down and talk to him for a bit, but I’m telling you too. I’m considering this whole situation a One-Warning-Sudden-Death deal. This is his warning. After this, it’s in or out but he has to go if I tell him to.”

Ryan nods, and Gabe leaves the room to head downstairs. Now empty, his room takes on a chill from the cold night air. Ryan just lays down, dressed, on top of his blankets, and falls asleep restlessly.

He dreams about Shane’s eyes slipping black and the ringing in his ears.

*

Monday morning comes abruptly when Ryan falls out of bed. He startles awake on impact and groans, tangled in his blanket from tossing and turning again. He’s been having nightmares.

He heads to class and sits through a lecture but all he can think about is Saturday night. The backyard, his hand on Shane’s arm. All of it echoing around him, loud and discordant. He can’t focus.

After class he walks over to Florida’s and knocks on her door. It’s a moment before she answers, and she looks sleepy when she does. “Uh, hey Ry. Come on in,” she says. She seems unsure of reality, in the way that you can only be when you wake up from a nap.

“I need a reading, or a cleansing or something,” he says. She looks him up and down, standing there in sweats and an oversized old band shirt. “Please?” he says and she gestures him toward the living room. She spends some time making tea in the kitchen, but then she sits down on the floor in front of him and starts shuffling her deck of cards.

“Do you have any specific question in mind?” she asks and he gives her a sharp look. “Alright, alright,” she says. Then she draws cards and arranges them in front of her.

She stares down at the cards for a long time. Ryan is practically shaking, sipping at his tea absently. “Hm,” she says. “This one is weird. Random.” She points out each card in order, “facing your fears, opposites or opposing ideas, reluctance and fear, romance, romance, and death.”

“Death?” Ryan questions, peering closer 

“Yeah, that’s the card, but it isn’t literal. The death card means change, paradigm shifts, the death of the old ways of thinking and rebirth into something new.”

*

He’s out at the movies with Ned and some of his friends when it hits him. He isn’t really afraid, anymore, of the house. Of Shane. No, that fear has been brushed aside by something much bigger and more demanding. He’s afraid of himself.

They find their seats and settle in for the long chain of commercials before the previews before the movie. But Ryan just sits there, nervous, thoughts a whirling dervish. He misses the entire thing but he laughs when everyone laughs and he agrees with everything the guys say as they’re leaving.

Ned nudges his arm, as the guys head past them and into the diner. “You okay, man?” he asks and Ryan doesn’t have an answer. He just shrugs and meets Ned’s eyes. “So your demon, right?” Ned says. “Is he like, only able to be at the frat or could he leave?”

“I don’t know, why?”

“Well, I was thinking that this is clearly bothering you and maybe I haven’t taken it as seriously as I should. So I want to meet him and see for myself what he’s like. I was just wondering, my place or yours?” Ned says. Ryan’s surprised, thankful that finally someone is listening to his concern and not just brushing it off.

“I guess I’ll ask him tonight,” Ryan says and Ned nods. “No matter what dude, I’m here for you,” Ned says.

*

Shane is sitting on the couch in the basement, seemingly deep in thought when Ryan approaches. It’s late; nearly three in the morning, but Shane is wide awake. He almost seems meditative. Ryan clears his throat and Shane looks over, his neutral expression sliding into a smile. “Well hey there hi there hello there,” he says. It startles a laugh from Ryan, but he gains his composure quickly.

“Uh, hey,” he says. He felt confident enough opening the door and walking down the stairs, but now that he’s staring Shane down he can’t help but feel nervous. “Do you sleep?” he asks suddenly. It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Shane looks surprised as well, like he wasn’t expecting that.

“I can,” he answers. Ryan doesn’t say anything so he continues, “I don’t have to, but I’m able to. Why?”

“I was just curious, I guess. I’ve never. Obviously I’ve never talked to a demon before.”

“But that isn’t why you came down here?” Shane hazards. Ryan feels transparent; he feels like he’s pinned down and being examined; he feels sometimes like Shane can read his thoughts.

“No,” he says. “I wanted to know if you can leave,” he says, and then cringes at how that must sound. Shane tilts his head a little. “I mean, if you can like… go other places, not that I’m asking you to leave. Like could you come with me somewhere, or do you have to stay on the grounds?”

Shane laughs. He holds a hand out, toward Ryan, like a question. Ryan is confused. Ryan is concerned. Ryan answers the question, grabs Shane’s hand and lets him lead them up the stairs and out the front door and out onto the sidewalk. He looks up at the stars; the November sky is clear but the night is cold. Shane’s hand is warm in his, Shane is warm next to him. Shane tugs on his hand lightly, and they walk together down into the night.

He leads them to a twenty-four hour diner and orders black coffee. Ryan just has water. “Okay,” Ryan says, “point made. You could have just told me.”

“Yeah, but then we wouldn’t have taken that lovely walk and we wouldn’t be sitting in this diner,” Shane answers. Ryan’s gut tightens oddly, flutters, but he ignores the feeling.

“You’re fucking bizarre,” Ryan says. Shane laughs, sips his coffee while it’s too too hot. “Do you get hyped up from coffee? Or drunk?”

Shane just looks at him over his mug, his eyes reflected in the dark pool of coffee. “I can,” he says, again.

“So you can get high?” Ryan asks suddenly. Shane tips his head back and laughs raucous. “I can,” he says, again, “do you want to?” he asks.

Ryan shrugs, but then shakes his head. “Do you want to meet a friend of mine?” he asks and Shane sets down his mug to level him with a stare; there’s no visible emotion, nothing Ryan can glean from his posture or expression.

“I hesitate to say this, but sure,” he says eventually.

*

Ned is grinning at Ryan while he’s frowning in the hallway. “I think I’ve almost got it,” Shane says from inside the kitchen. He thought he had someone on his side, finally. Someone who understood his trepidation and nerves. But then Ned and Shane met and they got on terrifically. Ryan thinks about how ‘terrific’ and ‘horrific’ were originally much more similar in meaning; how ‘terrific’ comes from ‘terrify’. 

“He seems great,” Ned says for the third time and Ryan just groans. From the kitchen, the faucet flips on and the water flows out immediately and evenly. “Got it!” Shane says. Ryan slides his head into his hands in defeat. “Okay dude, I’m just saying. Maybe you really did luck out?” he says and Ryan just shrugs, speechless. 

Shane comes around the corner, his horns still out from when he’d demonstrated to Ned. When Ned first saw him, he said “bullshit, that’s just some dude.” Acted like this was just a prank. Ryan’s eyes are glued to him. “That it, or you guys want to quote unquote ‘chill’ or something?” Shane asks. Ned laughs, overjoyed.

“Oh he is just great.”

“Great! Wow, the compliments just keep rolling in. Ryan, why didn’t you introduce us sooner?” Shane teases.

“Why do you keep fixing shit?” Ryan asks. There’s an edge in his voice that he didn’t intend.

“Well,” Shane says. “I am pretty handsy - I mean handy-” he says, winking at Ned, “it’s just a hobby I guess. Something to pass the time.”

They stay for a few hours. Ned is thrilled, enthralled. Ryan just feels like either he has lost his mind or everyone around him has lost theirs. He is at a loss for words, close to admitting defeat. Eventually Shane turns away from the movie and sets down his beer. “You wanna head back?” he asks and Ryan’s attention startles away from the screen. He nods, and Shane grabs his beer and chugs it down like nothing. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks. Ryan pulls down the dregs of his beer and grabs Ned’s shoulder as a goodbye. “It was nice meeting you,” Shane says to him and Ned grins.

Ryan and Shane walk back from Ned’s apartment toward campus. It’s silent between them but the afternoon is vivid and loud, cars and people and so much going on. Shane doesn’t say anything, none of his trademark snark or half-hidden flirtatious remarks. Suddenly, though, he pauses on the sidewalk and stares over across the road. Ryan looks over, and sees a church, a big ornate rooftop and the solid white walls of it.

“This might sound dumb,” Shane says. There’s very little of his typical demeanor on display. Ryan gets the impression that he’s drunk; that he got drunk to show Ryan that he can even though he doesn’t have to. “I’m sure it’s going to seem crazy. But I’ve always wondered what they look like on the inside.”

Ryan stills, glances from Shane’s face which is distant in thought over to the church. “You can’t go in?” he asks. Shane just shakes his head. “They seem nice, though. I just wonder if the inside is as beautiful.”

They keep walking, but Ryan can’t shake the feeling that all of this means something. The words replay in his head over and over as he walks alongside Shane back onto campus and back towards the frat; towards home. In the hallway, Shane hesitates at the basement door for a second and looks back towards Ryan. “I’m glad I met Ned,” he says, “you’ve got good taste in friends. I appreciate that even if you don’t trust me, you’re making an effort to figure your feelings out. You aren’t like other people, Ryan. You’re inquisitive and questioning. I think those are really good traits to have.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t even try to fight the smile that blooms on his face. “Good night,” he says. Shane nods, and walks through the door and down into the basement.

Ryan’s bed feels softer, somehow. It all feels warmer, cozier. He thinks about it all. He thinks about the flush on Shane’s cheeks. He thinks about everything Shane has said. He weighs his trust against his distrust; weighs his heart on a scale against a feather. He falls asleep no less sure but he dreams about the diner, him and Shane just talking about life and their plans and that new movie coming out just like any two people in the world. Like two people, talking and basking in each other’s company like it’s the sunlight.

*

He’s sitting on Gabe’s bed while he packs a bowl in the pipe. Gabe’s curly red hair is falling in his eyes while he focuses on the screen of his television and picks a movie. “You know,” Gabe says, “I’m graduating after next quarter.” Ryan looks up from the weed in the pipe and looks at the profile of his face; the straight nose and the dust of freckles and the pout of his lips. “You’re a good guy, Ryan,” he says. Ryan gets the feeling that this is important. He takes a hit off the pipe and hands it and the lighter over to Gabe. He eyes the lighter wearily, he’s superstitious about white lighters, but he takes his hit and hands it back. “You have a real moral compass. You know when something is wrong. I haven’t kicked out Shane yet because he’s been fixing stuff up and toeing the line and being an alright guy… demon… human shaped creature of infernal origin. But if you ask me to, if you look me in the eye and say you want him out, he’s out.”

Ryan feels like what Gabe is dancing around is the phrase _I trust you_ but he smiles and nods, handing the pipe back over. “I appreciate that,” he says while some smoke slides out with the words. He laughs, he thinks about the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. Gabe smiles.

He picks some random horror movie and lets it play, but he turns to look at Ryan before he speaks. “Serious, Bergara. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I hope… I hope you take over after I leave.”

“Really?” Ryan asks, and Gabe laughs. He pulls him close, ruffs his hair lightly. “Of course, who else am I gonna put in charge, Lloyd?” Gabe says and they share a laugh.

“Fucking Lloyd,” Ryan says. They watch part of the movie, but then Gabe turns to him again. His face is suddenly serious. The pipe is suddenly empty. “What’s up?” Ryan asks.

“You’re okay, right?” Gabe asks. Ryan is struck by how vague it is. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have an answer. “I just mean… I don’t want to take for granted that just because you _seem_ okay you actually _are_ okay. You’re not too stressed from classes, or freaking out quietly right? Like you’re okay?”

Ryan nods. He means it. He feels sure in a way he hasn’t lately, like he knows exactly what he’s doing here. Like the pieces are falling into place. “I’m good. All of this… Shane. Has been weird, but I’m good.” Gabe nods. He leans in and pulls Ryan into a hug, and Ryan relaxes into it like his stress has been a ghost and the burning sage just chased it out.

“Do you know why I wanted you to pledge?” Gabe asks suddenly, still holding Ryan close. Ryan shrugs. “I saw you the first time. First day here, it was written all over you. You were afraid, but damn if you didn’t have steel in your spine. You looked around. And it wasn’t like you were trying to figure out what to do, it was like you were assessing your options. Just looking right through the fear at all of the opportunity.”

Ryan doesn’t answer, but he turns to press a big, exaggerated kiss to Gabe’s cheek. He laughs and pulls back, pushes lightly on Ryan’s chest. Then they turn to the movie, and they watch the teens who should have known better get slaughtered by the beast one by one, and Ryan tries to think about having steel in his spine instead of the sudden sense of deja vu.

*

He keeps having nightmares leading up to Thanksgiving. He doesn’t necessarily care about the holiday, but something about leaving has him staring up at the ceiling of his room well into the night. It’s cold again, the weather slipping into winter slowly, and he’s shaking in bed. He woke up just before something horrible in his dream; he’s thankful that he always wakes up before the bad stuff happens, like he scares himself out of it.

He rolls over, and after another eternity of trying to fall asleep in the cold he sighs and sits upright in bed, hands fisting at the blankets. He opens his eyes and almost screams - he’s stuck absolutely still and full up of fear - because in the corner of the room is the shadowy shape of a person. Two lights glint in the moonlight; two eyes.

“Sorry,” Shane says. Ryan immediately sags back against the headboard. He looks over to the corner and drags his hand across his face. “What are you doing in here, Shane?” he asks.

“Well, it’s cold. You’re cold. I could hear your bones rattling all night and I thought I’d just… warm it up a bit. I didn’t think you were still awake.”

“Is that better?” Ryan asks. The shadow of Shane just shrugs.

“Let me warm you up,” Shane says. He walks toward the bed and climbs on, crawls under the covers and snuggles in on the other side from him, toward the wall. The heat radiating off of him is obvious. _My bones_? Ryan thinks, absently. He’s feeling overwhelmed again. “That wasn’t a come on, I promise,” Shane says lightly. Ryan doesn’t laugh. He’s feeling overwhelmed again, but in the soft heat he feels his muscles loosening as his exhaustion catches up with him.

“Uh,” Ryan says but Shane just shushes him without opening his eyes. “No. No uhs, ums, ands, ifs, or buts. Just sleep. I may not need it, but you do.”

“You’ll go to sleep too, right?” Ryan asks suddenly. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know the answer he wants to receive. He feels like he doesn’t know what any of this means.

“Yeah, if you ever shut up,” Shane says. Ryan says, “uh!” but then Shane just reaches out with his long arms and pulls Ryan in closer. “Just go to bed, Ryan,” he says. Right here, with just fabric between them and the blanket over them and Shane’s arms wrapped around his back, Ryan feels warmth and relief flow through him. “Fine,” he says, just to be petulant. And then he falls asleep suddenly and all at once. And he dreams about Shane’s hands and seasons changing and the path the moon carves slowly through the night sky.


	3. dreams like honeysuckle

His home is exactly how he remembered it. Nothing out of place, like he’d never left. It creates this odd dissonance, this strange feeling around him somewhere between nostalgia and homesickness and fear. Fear of the future; fear of the present. But his mom holds him close and his dad is grinning and he falls back into it easily.

The holidays are always big and bright and loud at the Bergara house, and he finds it impossible to keep himself from falling into the spirit. He realizes suddenly, on his second day back, just how stressed he’s been. It’s only now, in the warm embrace of his family, that he feels it all melt from him and can recognize how heavy it’s been. He finds himself alone for a moment the night before Thanksgiving and he takes it in gladly; sitting out on the back porch when his brother sits roughly down next to him and holds up a bottle of wine like an offering. “No glasses?” he asks while Jake laughs and pops the cork out of the bottle.

“Why bother? How’ve you been man?” Jake says, taking a swig and then handing the bottle over. The wine is deep red. Ryan stares into it a while, long enough that it starts to remind him of the black pools of Shane’s eyes. He takes a drink before he answers.

“Fucking weird, to be honest,” he answers. “There’s this… new guy in the frat. I don’t trust him,” he says. He hadn’t necessarily wanted to bring it up, but it slips anyway.

“He like, really skeezy?” Jake asks, taking another drink and passing the bottle; back and forth and back and forth and lighter the whole time.

“No, he’s actually a really nice guy,” Ryan says and then laughs. “It’s the weirdest thing. As much as I like him there’s just… something I can’t get over. A vibe, I guess.” Jake nods.

“Gotta listen to your gut, man. Sometimes you just know,” he says but Ryan’s face goes serious.

“But should you, really? I mean sometimes you get a vibe off someone and you’re wrong, right? Shouldn’t you like, give people a chance and cut them when they fuck up?”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s a case-by-case thing. Has this guy done anything to prove your vibe right, or has he been cool?”

“Everyone else likes him.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Ryan takes another gulp of wine and grimaces, hands the bottle back. “I guess… he’s actually done a lot to prove me wrong. But I still can’t shake the feeling, you know? Like, as much as I like him there’s just that wall or something.” Jake doesn’t say anything else, and the wine bottle sits empty at his feet. “Something about him… There’s something about him I really like. Despite all of it.”

Jake looks over from where he’s been staring at the grass in the yard, shadowed from the fenceline. Ryan follows his gaze and swears he can see two pinprick lights over near the trees, but he blinks and they’re gone. “Facies pulcherrima cave,” Jake says and Ryan looks over, intrigued. “Just some Latin phrase I heard somewhere. ‘Beware beautiful faces’.”

*

He’s sitting on the couch and complaining that he ate too much when his phone rings. He walks over towards his room -- or, the guest room that used to be his room -- and answers when he sees Gabe’s name. “What’s up, dude?” he says but then he stops still.

“Are you coming back soon?” Gabe asks, something stilted in his tone makes the hair on Ryan’s arm stand up. “Like, tomorrow right?”

“Why?” he asks. He has a huge, empty feeling in the pit that his stomach has become.

“Well it’s just… things are kind of weird around here,” Gabe says. He says it like he’s dancing around something, like he’s choosing his words. “I thought maybe you could bring Florida back over,” he says.

“What? Gabe is everything okay? I was supposed to drive back tomorrow but I could leave right now,” Ryan says. Gabe is quiet for a while.

“I think there’s something going on with Shane,” he says. Ryan hangs up and grabs his jacket off the bed, tosses his stuff into his bag. He walks out the bedroom door and pauses to place his bag in the hall before he tells his family that something came up and he has to head back.

The house looks the same as it always does (though there’s a fresh coat of the slate grey paint, and it looks like the porch has been fixed up and sanded and varnished) but once he walks in he feels the energy immediately. His breath clouds up in front of him. It’s dark and dreary inside, like there’s a foggy light cast throughout the room. Ryan heads immediately upstairs to Gabe’s room. He walks in and Gabe is just sitting on his bed, wrapped in his blanket, shivering. “Thank God,” he says.

“What the entire fuck?” Ryan asks, in a panic. He rubs his hands together absently in the cold.

“I literally don’t know. Shane’s been in the basement for two days and he’s either depressed or fucking furious but I’m over it.”

“Why didn’t you tell him to leave?” Ryan asks. Gabe looks at him, tired, dull. “The basement door is locked and my key is missing,” he answers.

Ryan gulps and pulls his jacket tighter around himself. “Well fuck that,” Ryan says. And then he leaves the room and heads for the hallway, pausing at the end and reaching out towards the door automatically. His breath hanging heavy in front of him.

He knocks three times, and the door swings open.

He walks down, and the door swings shut.

*

“Damn it, you should not be down here right now,” Shane says. Rather, he yells, because once the door shuts the dead quiet of the dark basement illuminates into a spectacle. Shane’s horns and claws are out and there is some enormous shadow writhing around him. He grips into the mass of darkness and inky black ichor slips out around his fingers and vanishes as it hits the concrete floor.

The room is somehow dark and illuminated at the same time; everything cast in sharp relief, every shadow endlessly deep. Shane's face looks angular, barely a resemblance to the boyish face Ryan has become accustomed to; everything around is bathed in an odd grey light, everything harsh in the chiaroscuro. Shane growls, and the noise of it resonates within Ryan's chest - like he feels it more than hears it. Like it came from some deep and primal place that echoes in his bones and rattles against his ribs.

On impulse, Ryan moves to step forward but one look from Shane has his feet rooted to the ground. He looks around the room wildly, trying to figure out what’s happening. The shadow is shifting and folding in on itself and then it looks like it swallows itself. Then a man is standing in the room with them. He’s tall, inordinately tall, and he has the palest skin Ryan has ever seen on a living creature. Maybe not living, but animate anyway. The man’s lips are blue tinged and he has deep bruises around his eyes. When he opens his mouth his teeth are sharp and bloody. Ryan's breath stops as the wind is knocked out of him, a sudden memory burning bright and clear through the cloud of terror; he's seen this man before. The Pale Man

“Get the fuck out!” Shane says, but Ryan still can’t move. It feels like the air is being sucked out of the room as the man reaches a clawed hand out toward Shane. Shane’s eyes are black, and he says something which ignites The Pale Man in a rolling white fire. Shane is struggling against the towering inferno of a man, and he grunts as the man’s claws slide out longer and slash across his gut. He stumbles back but then surges forward, his claws sinking in to The Pale Man’s chest. Black ichor pours out. Ryan looks around again, and when he finally moves it’s further into the room, towards the corner. 

Ryan turns back, marches straight towards the scene, and holds up a book and a water bottle.

“Oh Jesus,” Shane says, but Ryan opens the bottle with his teeth and splashes it toward the fire. “Get the fuck out of my house! The power of Christ fucking compels you, bitch!” The water hits the fire and it goes out but The Pale Man starts screaming. It almost drowns Ryan out but then he holds the book out in front of him and says, again, “Get the fuck out!”

The room grows impossibly colder. Ryan feels heat rolling off of himself in waves. His breath is hanging in dense clouds as he pants. There’s a strong smell, like ozone. Like an electrical fire. The Pale Man goes silent, and then seems to fade away slowly.

Ryan looks over at Shane, where he collapses onto the couch and holds his stomach gingerly. He’s bleeding. Ryan notices as the red slips out between his fingers. Ryan walks over, reaches out, but Shane pulls away and tightens around himself. Then in an instant he’s gone, and Ryan is just standing in an empty basement, feeling wrung out and exhausted. He trudges up the stairs, and the house feels normal. And the draft blows through and he shoves his hands into his pockets.

He walks up the stairs, and walks into Gabe’s room, and they fall asleep there together.

*

There’s no more knocking, and no more things getting fixed up, and for three weeks after Thanksgiving there’s no sign of Shane. The guys don’t really mention it, just go back to life as usual. But in his classes he’s thinking about everything that happened, and at home he just sits upstairs with Gabe and tries to make sense of everything.

“So you went downstairs. Then what?” Gabe asks him, again.

“The same thing that happened the other ten times I told you what happened,” Ryan says, exasperated. He sighs, though, and then says, “I stopped near the middle. Fourth step up. Shane was like, struggling or fighting with a big shadow.”

“What did it look like?” Gabe asks.

“Kind of like… like a dragon, but with a pig head or something. It was huge. Shane told me I shouldn’t have come down. Then the shadow turned into a guy.”

“The Pale Man,” Gabe says, low. He’s writing it down, taking notes, comparing it to the other times Ryan’s told him. Ryan nods.

“He had claws and horns too, so he was a demon. But I got the feeling he was older than Shane.”

“What gave you that feeling?”

“He was bigger, and his horns were longer, and he was obviously stronger. Then Shane set it on fire or something, and I moved and Shane looked over. So I got him hurt. The Pale Man like, ripped his stomach up. Then I moved.”

“You just said you moved twice. Did you move before or after Shane got hurt?”

Ryan pauses. He isn’t sure any more. “After. After, I think. That’s what made me act. I thought Shane was losing, and then I thought about that thing coming after the frat, coming after me. So I grabbed the Bible that was down there on the shelf and I grabbed that bottle of water that we had Father Thomas bless before all this shit. Why did we even…?” he trails off.

“We’d been joking that Lloyd was evil and wanted to trick him into drinking holy water.”

“Right. Well I splashed the water on the guy and he screamed and then I told it to get the fuck out.”

“Did you tell _it_ to get out, or just say… get out, like, generally to the room?” Gabe asks. Ryan is hit with the sudden realization.

“Oh God. I just said get out. I didn’t specify. I fucking kicked Shane out without meaning to.”

Gabe just shrugs. He still looks tired. “Well whatever you did, man. It saved all our asses. If that thing was kicking Shane’s ass it would have killed us.”

Ryan can’t agree, can’t help but feel something sinking in his gut. He goes to his room and he lays down and he doesn’t really sleep. When he dreams it’s just red, red, red, spilling vibrant out around Shane’s hands.

*

When she opens the door, Florida looks exhausted. Like maybe she was working out. “Really, Ryan?” she says and he just looks as pathetic as he can. She sighs, moves to grab her cards but then pauses.

“I had a dream about this,” she says. Ryan sits on the couch and she sits next to him. Ryan hears someone moving around in the bathroom, the shower switch on. “I had a dream about Shane coming to see me. He knocked on the door and then gave me the look you just did. He wanted a reading, though. I did a whole spread for him. But it was always the same card. The Hanged Man, The Hanged Man, The Hanged Man. Upright and Reversed, just over and over and over.”

“What does that card mean?”

“Sacrifice, indecision, selfishness….”

“I need you to come over and bring him back.”

Florida pauses, looks at Ryan like he’s insane. He feels like he is insane. She heaves a sigh and runs her hand along her pink hair. “That’s not like, something I do. Didn’t your frat guys summon him the first time?”

“They just sent out a call and he answered. And they were lucky it was him. I don’t trust… We need to call him, directly.”

“Ryan I’m not a medium,” she says but Ryan glances over, then grins.

“Bullshit,” he says, “Shane actually visited you.” Florida looks confused, now looks certain that he’s insane. But he points over, at where one of the curtain rods had been loose and kept falling out in the breeze. The wall is puttied and re-painted around it and the rod has been secured.

“Holy shit,” Florida says.

The shower switches off. A woman walks out, wrapped in a towel.

“Holy shit,” Ryan says.

*

The building is huge, seems much bigger from the inside. The even rows of benches and the high vaulted ceiling and the stained glass. There’s a magic to it; a sense of beauty and wonder that holds him entranced. He almost misses it when Father Thomas leans out the door of his office and beckons him in.

“Ryan, it’s been a long time. What brings you here?” he asks. He has a certain feeling about him, some abstract idea of youth that radiates from him. Positivity.

“Thank you for seeing me, Father. I’ve just been going through… a lot of changes and strange things. I was hoping I could get some advice,” Ryan answers. “I just feel like I’m going through a lot right now and I wasn’t sure where to turn.”

Father Thomas nods, smiles. He waits patiently for Ryan to gather his thoughts and continue, but it’s a long wait.

“My ex girlfriend is dating one of my best friends, the frat I’m in is falling apart, I’ve been completely neglecting my schoolwork, and there’s. I met this guy, and everyone else seems to like him, and he’s honestly great but there’s… something about him that I don’t trust. There’s a darkness in him, but everything he does seems to contradict that. It’s just, a lot.”

Father Thomas nods again, sits quietly for a moment.

“Well whenever there are a lot of changes or challenges it can seem overwhelming. That’s natural, that feeling of not being able to keep up. Several of those problems seem to have very simple solutions, most of which I’m sure you already know. Stop neglecting school because that’s something important to you. Take steps to organize your fraternity brothers into a concerted effort to address any issues. Let your ex date whoever she wants and don’t give in to jealousy. But when you say… when you say that there is a darkness in this person you met, what do you mean?”

“Oh I’m not jealous of my ex, it’s just… a surprise. I didn’t expect to see her at all, much less at my friend’s house. But that’s… it’s whatever. That’s fine.”

Father Thomas doesn’t say anything. Not for a long time. Ryan sits there in his office, feeling foolish for wasting his time, when he suddenly speaks again.

“And the darkness?” he questions, and Ryan gulps. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to say it. 

“Everything about who he is, what he is, who I thought he was, tells me to stay away from him. But everything about the person I see in front of me, the person I interact with, pulls me closer. Like he’s… magnetic.”

“Sometimes, I find… We try to decide who other people are. Before we get to know them. We look at them and we assume things about their past and what kind of person they are. But every single one of us is a multifaceted individual. We can all be cruel and jealous and foolish and stubborn. We all have darkness. But we also can be loving and humorous and kind and charitable. Where there is darkness there is always light, son. And where there is light the shadows burn darker and brighter and deeper. If you believe one thing but everything around you is telling you the opposite, consider that you may be wrong.”

Ryan doesn’t respond. Long enough that the Father gets up and crosses the room to pour two glasses of water and sets one in front of him. Long enough that he has time to drink half of it before he speaks again.

“I’ve been having a lot of nightmares. I’ve been seeing… This is going to sound insane, but I keep dreaming about a demon. A Pale Man. The Pale Man. And he’s just… searching for me. Looking for me.”

Father Thomas coughs into his fist, midway through a sip of water. He sits there and gives Ryan an odd look; a look that seems oddly familiar. There are telephone poles along the sidewalk outside. As the sun sets the shadows shift and the fierce straight lines of the shadowed telephone lines seem to drop from the ceiling and reach around the Father’s neck.

“I’ve known you for quite a while, Ryan. Since you were a child, actually. Do you remember? Your uncle lived here in town and your parents used to bring you up sometimes. Years ago, you told me something in the confession booth. Something… eerily similar. You must have been about six, seven maybe.”

Ryan is staring, absolutely still in a way that feels like he’s shaking apart. He knows what Father Thomas is going to say before he says it. The shadows seem to coil around him, as the sun turns vivid red. All Ryan can see is the red slipping out around Shane’s fingers on his stomach; the red dripping down around The Pale Man’s sharp teeth; the red of the couch down in the basement where he’d last seen Shane.

“You told me The Pale Man was coming for you, and you saw him all the time, and that he was a demon.”

*

Ned carefully places another beer in front of him, pats his shoulder, and then walks around the table to sit on the couch. There’s a Lakers game on the TV, but it’s muted and Ryan isn’t paying attention at all. He doesn't say anything, and Ryan is thankful that he isn't trying to break the tension with levity. Eventually though, he does speak. “So Wren is sleeping with Florida?”

Ryan groans, downs half his beer. It's his fourth since he arrived. “ _That's what you gathered from all that_?” he asks. Ned laughs. but it's short, not at all humorous.

“Well what do you want me to say? Everything about this is insane, dude. You've just completely buried memories of seeing _literal demons_ for your entire life. You were living with a demon for like, a month. None of this even makes sense, Ryan. Demons are _real_.”

He can't argue, just drinks more of his beer and watches the silent game and doesn't absorb any of it. “I need to figure out a way to get Shane back,” Ryan says. Ned just looks over at him, clearly shocked. “Think about it, man. He literally fought the same demon that I saw more than a decade ago. The Pale Man was here, at the house, knows where I am. Shane showed up just before him. There’s something going on. There’s something… there’s something about myself that I don’t know and I think Shane has something to do with it.”

Ned just stares him down, like he’s a stranger. Neither of them say anything until the game is long over and the highlights and commentary have played and the network switches over to infomercials. It’s Ned who breaks the silence, when he says, “also you’re totally crushing on him, right?”

Ryan chokes, spits the beer out of his mouth and pounds on his chest. “What? What the fucking fuck? Ned. I’m not… I don’t… I’m not… what?”

Ned laughs, shrugs. “Ryan, you’ve literally been obsessed with him since he fixed up the washer.”

Ryan just punches Ned’s arm. 

*

A chill runs through the room. Firelight flickers ominously. Gabe dusts the chalk off his fingers on the leg of his jeans and leans back to sit in the circle. Ryan flicks off the light as he reaches the bottom of the stairs with Florida. Her thin fingers wind their way into his grip as they approach the circle and sit down.

She reaches into her pocket and sets a single tarot card down in the center of the sigils and symbols and lines. They all join hands.

\---

_“Oh fuck, hi Ryan. How do you know Florida?” Wren asked, standing in the hall._

_“We met in astronomy,” Ryan said. She nodded, then turned to walk down the hall and into Florida's room. Ryan didn't say anything, just watched her go, something he'd made a habit of in his life. “You're…” he started, before thinking better of it. “Whatever. So can I have a reading?” he asked._

_Florida shook her head. “I don't think that's what you need.”_

\---

“We are reaching out to Shane. All other forces are barred from this room by the four winds and the elements of fire, water, earth, and spirit,” Florida says. Her voice is steadier than her hand where it's clutching Ryan tightly.

“Shane, come back,” Ryan says.

The candlelight dances through the room. There is a sound like croaking, groaning wood upstairs.

“Shane…”

\---

_“You need to look inside, Ryan. Not out into the universe but into your own heart,” Florida said. “What do you want?”_

_Ryan didn't answer. Didn’t have an answer. He wanted Wren until he didn't, and he wanted for things to go back to normal, and he wanted to pass his classes, and he wanted to know what was going on. Mostly though, what he wanted was to understand himself. To figure out what all of these big heavy things inside of him were and why he carried them around, to figure out his fears and his strengths. To figure out what pearl lay hidden at the center of his labyrinthine thoughts; what truth lay concealed deep within his heart._

_He wanted answers, not questions._

\---

“Shane, I summon you to appear before us. I summoned you before and I never asked you to leave,” Gabe says. Ryan sits there silent. just picturing all of the lines and curves of Shane as clearly as he can.

Florida starts making this noise, a soft and constant hum.

Ryan joins her on reflex, softly. His eyes slip open and across the circle Lloyd and Andrew's eyes are glued to his face. His vision slips out like he's falling asleep. For a moment he can see Shane, not like the image in his head but like looking at him. He's laying on a slab of stone, holding his belly and staring up into heavy clouds. He glances over, toward where Ryan must be standing.

\---

_“I want Shane back,” Ryan said._

\---

Ryan is suddenly back in the basement. He goes to say something when his blood runs cold because a voice interrupts from behind him, from the couch.

“Sorry kids, but Shane isn't allowed to come out and play tonight,” a man says. The circle breaks as everyone stands and turns to look. “I'm afraid he's grounded,” the guy says in a posh accent, “and I think you kids are in a bit over your heads.”


	4. chased through pines

“Where's Shane?” Ryan asks. The man tips his head back and chuckles. No one else is moving.

“He's engaged with some business at the moment. Nothing to worry about,” the man says. He leans back and crosses one leg over, comfortable. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and it lights as it reaches his lips. “Sorry about the smoke, it reminds me of home,” he says.

Ryan rolls his eyes and notices that the man watched him the whole time. “You must be Ryan,” he says and then Ryan’s pulse races. “First of all, sorry about that psychopath who showed up. If it makes you feel better it’s a rogue agent of sorts. Certainly not any of my work. I’ve heard about you; exorcising The Pale Man in a rather… unconventional manner.”

He realizes that as soon as the man showed up the candles went out but the room is lit anyway; like he’s somehow altered the aesthetic of the room. He realizes that he doesn’t know fuck all about demons, and then that he is absolutely terrified. He should say something, because no one else is. It’s like they’re all frozen. “I did what I had to,” he says and the man just smiles at him. “Please tell me where Shane is. If not, tell me when he can come back.”

“Oh, so polite. You are fascinating,” the man says. Ryan realizes that all that time ago, Halloween, Shane had said that he liked the frat, but that _Ryan_ was fascinating. He shivers. He blames it on the strange breeze that accompanies this stranger. “Alright, so here’s the deal,” the man continues, “Hell is obviously nothing like you thought. That’s a Big Thing, so I’m not even going to get into that at all. I don’t even know if you can understand without your brain… nonetheless, Shane took quite an extended vacation here, and he’d certainly earned it. But he has a _job to do_. You understand, right? You kids can’t just be summoning us around all… willy-nilly. It’s interrupting important, Big Things. Understand?”

Ryan nods, and on the third downward tilt the man disappears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you idiots,” Florida says. And then she leaves. Slowly, the rest of the frat files back upstairs numbly, like they’re in shock. Until it’s just Gabe and Ryan.

“I think we, to borrow a phrase, _screwed the pooch_ ,” Gabe says and Ryan lets loose a shocked and nearly hysterical laugh.

*

All things considered, Ryan adapts pretty quickly. Everything that he thought about the afterlife has completely changed and shifted around him. But he has classes coming up and he has to go home for the holidays soon, and there are other things going on so he’s able to just set the entire demon thing aside for a while. Nothing else happens at the frat, and there’s a distinct lack of weird energy, save Lloyd, so Ryan tries to just put it down and leave it right there while he finishes up last minute things and gets ready to head home again, a chance to see his family and truly relax.

When he goes to leave, Gabe gives him a long and searching look.

“Back so soon?” his dad teases, pulling him into a hug. Ryan just smiles, as his dad lets him go and his mom pulls him in. He can't think of anything to say. "Jake'll get in later tonight," his dad says.

Ryan is looking forward to this. A week at home to reset and figure out what he’s going to do. A number of things have been becoming clear to him but he finds that each thing just obfuscates the big picture more and more. He wishes he had someone here he could talk to about it, but no one would believe him if he got into all of it. He wishes he’d gotten the chance to ask Shane more about what was going on. So many things so clear behind him, like flares on the road, like bright red flags; so many things still clouded and hazy in front of him.

Most of the week is long; the days leading up to Christmas eternal and full up of hot chocolate and old movies and a fire burning in the living room.

Christmas is a blur.

The whole of it eclipsed by Ryan sitting out on the porch, apple cider and whiskey hot in a mug in his hand. He looks up from the pool in the mug and startles: Shane, standing in the yard; Shane, in front of him again; Shane.

"Jesus Christ," he says, and Shane grins.

"Not quite," he replies with a smirk. "I was hoping we could quote unquote 'chill' for a while."

Neither of them move for a long time. 

Then Ryan grins, stands and crosses the yard and walks up to him. There's a shimmer in the air, like snowflakes dancing in the streetlights. He holds out the mug and Shane smiles, says, "oh sick. I love whiskey."

"Where the fuck have you been?" Ryan asks as Shane takes a long drink of the cider. "Why did you just disappear?"

He doesn't answer at first, just looks at Ryan like a stranger. Shane holds out a hand in a question. Ryan answers it by reaching out, and Shane pulls him further into the yard, back toward the treeline.

"Listen, I'm sorry about all of that. That gross weirdo and taking off and everything. I heard you guys calling me… Ryan. You can't just. Do you not get it?"

The smile slips off of his face and he stops suddenly, digs in his heels and pulls his hand from Shane's grip. "Get what?" he asks even though he knows the answer.

"You're in danger! You are putting yourself in more danger by fucking with things you don't understand and pissing off the wrong people."

He crosses his arms stubbornly. Shane finishes off the cider and holds the mug out to him limply. It hangs there off his finger for a while, rocking slowly by its handle. "Are you forgetting that I got rid of The Pale Man and not you?" he asks. He can hear the attitude in his own voice.

"I had it covered!" Shane replies, nearly shouting. "And I don't think you're appreciating that I'm pissing people off just by being here right now."

"Then why are you here?"

Shane just looks at him, stares him down. Ryan feels like he can read his mind, not for the first time. Shane is looking at him like he doesn't know what to say. There's a flush on his cheeks that Ryan attributes to the whiskey. He doesn't answer for a long time, the slowly rocking mug still dangling from his finger acting as a ticking clock.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he says finally.

"Why does it matter?"

In an instant Shane is gone, and the mug smashing against the forest floor is the only proof he was there at all.

"Damn it," Ryan says, crouching down to pick up the pieces. The sharp corner of one digs into his finger, the jagged edge drawing a thin line of red. The blood slides down his finger and pools in his palm. The guilt tastes like gin, like bitter pine in his mouth. Red hands. Red wine. Red couch. Red eyes in the dark.

Running. Flying across the yard and hardly breathing. Rustling behind him. He is the wind. Closer, closer, _closer_ ; inside - home free. He slams the door shut behind him and pants heavily, sliding down to sit with his knees up to his chest. Jake comes around the corner from the living room, concern all over him. He walks forward and crouches down, reaches a tentative hand out when his eyes startle up over Ryan's shoulder and he opens his mouth to gasp. Ryan slides and turns, freezes in place.

The Hanged Man

Written in fog on the window, like a breath was just there; it slowly fades away. The words are burned into Ryan's eyes. "What the fuck?" Jake says. Ryan walks into the guest room that used to be his room and calls Florida. Jake trailing him the whole time.

"Ryan? It's so fucking late what do you-"

"Shane came to visit me, and something followed him," he says quickly. She goes silent. Jake stares at him. "It left a message. I think it was talking about your dream."

"Oh Jesus Christ. What the hell did you drag me in to?"

"Some _thing_? Shane?"

"I'm worried it might visit you too," he says. Florida sighs, long and weary, and then Ryan swears he hears something over the line. Three knocks.

"Ryan hold on, I think Wren is at the door."

"Florida no! What if it isn't Wren? What if it's pretending?"

"Are you just pulling this stuff outta your ass? Can demons even do that?"

"I don't know Florida! I'm not exactly a demon expert!"

" _Demons_?!"

"Jake, shut up!"

Three knocks through the line. Three knocks on the bedroom door that startle Ryan and Jake into collapsing on the bed.

"Oh, Jake's there? Tell him I say hi!"

"Florida!"

" _Demons_?!"

"Florida, listen to me. Text Wren. If it's her at the door she'll answer. Do not open the door unless you are certain, okay? Something bad is happening."

"Okay," she says. Three knocks on the door, Ryan puts the phone on speakerphone and sets it on the bed. The static is a crackling dirge. The door swings open.

*

_He woke up with a start, gasping against Shane's chest. The man - the demon - just pulled him in tighter. "It's okay," he said, "just go back to sleep. It was just a nightmare."_

_Ryan sighed, tugged weakly at one of Shane's arms and rolled onto his back. Shane sleepily clung on to him and moved closer, his face tucked in against Ryan's neck._

_"I'm not gonna let anything hurt you," he said, his lips ghosted along the skin; goosebumps ghosted up along his arms and chest._

_"I had a dream that this all was a dream," Ryan said._

*

A man in the doorway; huge and imposing like a shadow stretching out down the road; legs loose and arms akimbo; the deep burnt shadow of him split across the face with a glinting white set of teeth.

"Holy shit," Jake says. Ryan doesn't have time to think but he acts on impulse.

He puts his hands up and pictures blinding white light. "I banish you from this house. I prevent you from harming any person here. You have not been invited."

The man takes a step forward; Jake slides back along the bed; Ryan stands up.

"Let light reign above you and let holy waters rain upon you. The elements and the four winds resist you."

The man takes a step forward; the void-black length of his arm reaches out; Jake slides back further and his back hits the wall.

"I command you to leave. I command you to leave--

*

_"I'm afraid," he said. Shane's hand slid along to rest on his chest, against his heart. "I'm afraid of you, and I'm afraid of this. What do you want? Why are you here?"_

_"I'm here because they summoned me," Shane said._

_"That's not what I mean," Ryan said. His voice hardly above a whisper._

*

\--you must flee this place." Ryan's vision is whiting out, Jake is rattling. The man stops still, seems to shiver in place like a big dark fly.

The man folds in on himself and vanishes; the door is still closed. The air shifts, changes, the light flickers on, Ryan takes a deep breath and sags down onto the bed. He stares up at the ceiling, sees clouds drifting across a sky. Jake places a hand on his shoulder.

*

_"I'm here because I like you, you dense adorable idiot. There's more to you than I thought."_

*

"Demons?" Jake asks, quietly. Florida laughs from the phone. "I know, right?" she says.

"It's a long story," Ryan says. Jake leaves the room and comes back with a bottle of wine. Ryan tells him everything.

"Jesus Christ," Jake says at the end of the story. "You're a fucking badass, dude. Like. God Warrior."

Florida laughs sleepily. "You know," she says, "when you lay it all out like that it's not really that bad. You've got a hunky demon looking out for you and you can just like, kick demon ass whenever you want to."

"Oh? Shane is hunky?" Jake teases.

"Listen, if I wasn't a lesbian I would be down to fuck him."

Ryan groans, sets the wine bottle down and cradles his head in his hands. "What the fuck you guys." Florida laughs again and bids them goodnight, hangs up the phone and leaves the brothers alone with the enormous weight of all that has happened.

"So at Thanksgiving, when you were talking about the new guy… that was Shane. Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

"I didn't think anyone would believe me."

"Fuck that dude. You're my big brother. Of course I believe you." Jake pulls him in for a hug, and Ryan sighs into it.

"What do you think I should do?" Ryan asks.

"Survive long enough to graduate," Jake replies.

*

_"I'm afraid of that, too," Ryan said._

*

He gets through another few days without incident. He feels like the enormous weight of everything he told Jake has been lifted from his shoulders, left to pool on the floor.

New Years, though. He can't shake this terrible feeling, a shiver in his spine that won't quit, a shadow on the edge of his vision. He finds himself hiding out alone most of the night, unable to join in the excitement. He's sitting on his old bed sipping on champagne when his eyes startle up from his phone.

"You're back," he says.

*

_"I think your problem is that you think about fear too much," Shane mumbled. He fell back asleep. Ryan laid awake for an hour, at least._

*

Shane smiles, shrugs where he's standing by the closed door. He looks around the room absently, like he's looking for a distraction.

"Just can't stay away I guess. I heard you kicked some more ass and I wanted to say I'm sorry for just leaving like that. I should have… anyway. I'm glad you're alright."

Ryan pats the empty space next to him, and after a moment Shane crosses the room and sits down. 

"This used to be your room, right?" he asks. Ryan looks over and nods.

"How can you tell?" he asks.

"It just, feels like you. Like your energy… but younger."

"Can you read my mind?" Ryan asks suddenly. Shane looks over. There's no smile on his face.

"No. Well, probably actually. I don't, and haven't, if that's what you're asking. But I, you know. I pick up on energy or whatever. I can usually guess how you're feeling and use that to infer what you're thinking about."

"So, on Halloween. After the whole thing with Sigma. We were alone in my room. And you suddenly looked over at me. What did you guess I was feeling?"

Shane meets his eye for a long time. When he speaks, its quiet. Ryan can hear his family counting down from sixty in the living room. He should be out there; he doesn't want to be out there.

"You were afraid. You're afraid a lot."

"I'm not afraid right now."

"No. You're not."

There's something happening. Ryan wants to blame it on the champagne. He wants to blame it on all of the absurd things that have happened lately. But this whole time he's thought that him and Shane were magnets; alternating polarities; repelling and attracting; now Shane feels like North and Ryan is being drawn in, closer and closer.

Shane kisses him and the voices fade away and his room that isn't his room anymore fades away and all he can do is grab his shoulders like an anchor and hope he doesn't disappear. He kisses back and Shane's arm wraps around him and he feels the softest tease of five fine points - Shane's claws ghosting across his back. He's worried that he's made a mistake. He's worried that he'll never be able to stop. That he's crossed some event horizon from one reality to another and there's no going back.

He licks along Shane's teeth and he pulls back, clamps a clawed hand across his mouth. In the split second Ryan can see sharp teeth like fangs filling his mouth.

He pulls Shane's hand away and watches as he smiles sheepishly with the grin of a wolf.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Ryan says.

"Neither do I," Shane agrees. Then he leans back in and kisses Ryan again. It's desperate in a controlled way; like he's been waiting for this for a long time and doesn't want to rush through it. He leans back and Shane follows, straddles his hips and brackets his head with his hands.

He can't help but groan at the weight in his lap. Shane pulls back again and Ryan watches as his teeth slide out into fangs at the noise of it.

"I'm finding it hard to control myself," Shane says. Ryan nods.

"Ditto," he answers. "I've never… with another… I haven't…" he's finding it hard to think straight. Hell, at the moment he's finding it hard to do anything straight.

"Do you want to just kiss some more, and leave it there?" Shane asks. Ryan opens his hand where it's laying next to Shane's on the bed, leaves it there in a question. Shane looks over at it and just stares for a while, eyes on the thin cut leftover from Christmas. He moves his hand and answers the question by threading their fingers together and leaning down to press his lips against his lips again, and again, and again.

*

Ryan wakes up certain that it was all a dream. Until he rolls over and finds himself pressed against Shane. He's still here, still in Ryan's bed. His lips are flushed and stained red. He just looks at him, at how soft and peaceful and young he looks when he sleeps. He's smiling, a tiny and shy thing barely visible in the lines of his face.

"You don't seem afraid right now," Shane says. He still doesn't open his eyes but he shifts over to wrap Ryan up and pull him close.

"What do you think I'm feeling," Ryan asks. Shane doesn't answer.

Heading back to campus is a weird thing, now. He feels like a lot of things have changed, he feels like he has changed. It's a new year. Shane is sitting in the passenger seat of his car, watching out the window with an interest Ryan can only describe as abstract. He's been quiet all morning.

They walk into the frat and the boys look up and cheer. "Ryan's home!" Lloyd shouts. Gabe comes rushing down the stairs and freezes when he sees Shane.

"Well, merry Christmas to us," Gabe says, "Ryan tracked down our missing mascot." His eyes are fixed firmly at the way Shane's shoulder is pressed up against Ryan's. Shane's hand is resting on the small of his back. Before they walk into the room he slides it down to squeeze at the swell of his ass and Ryan blushes.

*

Things return to whatever passed for normal. A few days after coming back, Shane decides they need more defense against all of the demons who have suddenly taken a vested interest in Ryan, so he disappears for a while and comes back carrying a huge stone mortar filled with things. He's holding it with oven mitts.

"Ryan, do me a favour, would you?" he says, setting down the bowl and a pestle next to it. He backs away from them slowly and pulls off the mitts. "Would you grind all that shit together for me?"

Ryan walks over and looks inside; dark water and red powder and pale, white-green leaves. He shrugs, starts working the mixture together. and Shane pulls out a painter's mask to cover the smell. He gags anyway. "What is this shit?" Ryan asks.

"Brick dust, tar water, and white sage. We're gonna surround the house with it so no demons can get in."

Ryan pauses his mixing, looks over at Shane. "What about you?" he asks. Shane shrugs. "I'll already be inside," he answers, as if that is an answer. It isn't until Ryan's outside with Gabe, pouring a thick line of the odd water around the house that he understands the implication. Shane is locking himself inside.

*

When they finish, he follows Gabe up to his room. They haven't properly talked since Ryan got back. The two of them sit on Gabe's bed while he rolls a joint.

"Have you ever…" Ryan starts, but then stops just as suddenly. Gabe glances over at him, but doesn't stop rolling. "Have you ever… questioned stuff… about yourself?" Ryan says, quietly. Gabe shrugs, pulls out a lighter and inhales deeply.

"Of course," he says as he exhales. "What are you questioning, specifically?"

Ryan is quiet. He takes the joint and hits it and hands it back. The smoke fills his lungs and makes him feel lighter.

"I'm afraid to say," he answers finally. Gabe hands the joint back and rests a hand on his shoulder.

"You know this is an open and affirming frat, right? I wrote that into the charter when I took over for Brandon. It doesn't matter what you tell me, man. I'm not here to judge."

Ryan sighs. He snuffs out the joint in the ashtray and stares at the swirling smoke rising. "I'm not sure who I am anymore. Everything that's been happening is all… because of me. And now I'm starting to question things about myself I never questioned before."

Gabe is quiet. When he speaks he's quiet. "When I first got here as a little freshman I was terrified. Alpha was… more like a typical frat. I spent three years hiding a huge part of who I am, until it became second nature. I still haven't… I haven't told any of the boys this. I haven't been open about a lot of stuff. But I trust you, Ryan, so I'm going to tell you something I haven't told anyone else. Do you remember last year when Lloyd kept asking me why I never have girls over? Why I never date anyone? It's because I am dating someone. We've been together for two years."

"Oh?" Ryan says. "What's her name?"

"His name is Jacob," Gabe says in a rush, all at once like it flees his lungs before he can lock the door on it.

Ryan looks at him and smiles, pulls him into a hug. "I don't think that I'm as straight as I thought I was," Ryan admits in a whisper, "and I'm fucking terrified about it."

*

_"I'm not gonna let anything hurt you," Shane said. And oh, thought Ryan, if only that were true._


	5. soak in the moon's fae magic

The world around him keeps turning, all the motion slowed but frenetic. He feels out of place, he feels hollow; emptied out with nothing to replace all of it. Like without his fear he’s just a cavernous space. Maybe it’s exhaustion; maybe he’s finally become too tired to be afraid any more and all he can feel is the weight left over. But when he thinks about it he is still afraid. Instead of being afraid of Shane or afraid of the demons he’s replaced all of that with a deep, ancient fear that accompanies discovering who he is. He wishes he could just put it all down. He wishes he wasn’t so concerned with who he is. He wishes he were more brave.

He has a few days left before classes start up again. He spends most of them in his room, trying to do as much research as he can; trying to find out why all of this has started happening to him and who, exactly, his enemies are. At night Shane knocks on the door - three knocks, at least he’s consistent - and Ryan lets him in. They lay together on his bed while music plays softly.

Ryan’s resting his head on Shane’s shoulder. Shane’s arm wrapped around his shoulders loosely. “Do you know why all of this is happening?” he asks.

Shane doesn’t answer, not at first. He just grazes his fingers along the freckled skin of Ryan’s shoulder and leans back against the wall and sighs. “Not entirely. I know some things. Think of all this like, when the frat did the summoning they opened a door. So it’s like an open door in the summer, it lets in the breeze but it lets in the flies too. So now, word has gotten back that there’s a doorway here, and… and word has spread that there’s someone here who puts up a fight, who can resist us. Now, all the devils in Hell are cats and you, Ryan, are curiosity.”

Ryan sighs heavily. He angles his face toward Shane. Shane pulls him in tighter. “So it’s all the boys’ fault, not mine? I mean, generally. Obviously no matter who opened the door I would have had to get rid of them and draw attention.”

“I suppose so,” Shane says.

“Okay, but where does that leave you? We locked everything out, right?”

“Once you open a door there’s no closing it, but we essentially closed the screen door. Now the breeze can get without the flies.”

“So are you trapped here?”

“Geez, Ryan. Can’t you just relax for a while?” Shane asks, evades, distracts.

Ryan shrugs, but then leans in and presses a kiss against Shane’s cheek. He can feel the stretch of the muscles as Shane smiles. “Not really, no,” Ryan teases and Shane laughs. "This is all really weird to me. And you kept disappearing and not telling me anything. I'm just... very confused. About a lot of things in my life," Ryan explains. 

"Are you confused about me?" Shane asks, and Ryan nods. "Because I'm a guy or because of the whole demon thing?" Shane asks, and Ryan nods. "Okay well, quote unquote spoiler alert but no one _over there_ cares about being queer. That's not actually a problem. So hopefully that takes some weight off your shoulders. Maybe even solves one of those problems. As for, you know, me being a demon… you'll just have to judge my character I suppose."

Ryan doesn't answer. He doesn't say much the rest of the night. Before he falls asleep, though, he rolls over toward Shane, looks across the bed and asks, "how can I stop the cats from chasing down curiosity?"

"You can't," Shane answers, simply. "Gotta love the classics." He falls asleep quickly; Ryan lies awake for hours.

*

Ryan sits down on Ned’s couch while he puts the game on. He cracks open a beer and gulps some down. Ned sits down next to him, focuses on the game until he glances over. “What’s up, dude?” he asks and Ryan just sighs and takes another drink. The answer seems endless; like an essay prompt: What is fear? Ryan misses the simplicity of last year, the straightforward march toward his degrees. Now it seems as if the entire world has changed around him.

“Fucking everything, man. There is a lot going on right now honestly.”

“Shane?” Ned asks. Ryan groans, shrugs. There’s a lot more than that, but that is one of the cruxes of the issue. Everything changed when Shane arrived. Ryan has changed since Shane arrived. The magnetic draw of him, the mysteries and secrets hiding behind his smile, all of the truth he has opened up. Ryan has never questioned his identity before now; but suddenly everything he’d learned about himself in the last twenty-two years has been tossed aside.

“Partly Shane. Mostly just, you know. Everything. I can banish demons for some reason and despite all logic that apparently means that demons are going to keep coming for me. Seemingly forever. And then…” he pauses, cuts himself off. What can he even say about what’s happening between him and Shane? What does it mean? What are they doing? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.

"And then…?" Ned prompts.

"Do you remember in high school, when Eugene came out and people were picking on him? And then I stood up for him to my jock friends, and they started calling me a homo?" Ryan says. Ned just nods. "They might have been more accurate than I thought." Ned is quiet, the both of them are. "I mean, I'm not… I'm not _gay_ …"

"Ryan it doesn't matter. I mean, Eugene is gay. I'm bi. Florida is a lesbian. You think any of your friends care about your sexuality? This isn't high school, man. It matters, in that it matters to you, but why you're acting like I'm going to kick you out or something… I don't know. Anyway. So you finally realized your huge crush on Shane?"

"He kissed me," Ryan says. His cheeks flush. Ned laughs, claps a hand on his shoulder.

"Couldn't resist his infernal charm?" he jokes.

"I've just always. Okay, I know my family isn't like this but I grew up in the church, okay? And a lot of people are really… it's fucked up but I absorbed a lot of stuff about being gay. So then… with a demon making me realize stuff about myself… about that. I've been thinking about it a lot. I always learned that demons were sent to tempt us. So when I was feeling tempted I… shut it down. I assumed that was why Shane was here."

"Fuck."

"Right? So I spent all of this time avoiding him and distrusting him because… I couldn't figure it out, why he was interested in me of all people. Why all of the demons are so interested in me. And I still don't know anything."

"Well you know some things," Ned says helpfully.

"I guess," he says, leaning his head against the couch with a sigh, "but not enough."

*

The sun is glittering on the surface of the water. The old wooden bench looks out at the ocean among the distant cry of gulls, and fat clouds lazily slide along the stunning sky while it fades from pink to orange. Ryan sits, music playing softly from the bar across the street behind him, and watches as the sun dips lower and lower towards the horizon. Just as they meet, the sky burns brilliantly red.

"It's beautiful," Shane says from behind him. "All of it is, really. This whole damn world."

He comes around and sits next to Ryan. The two of them sit and look out over the water for a while, watching the sun soak into the sea and the sky fade out to an impossible shade of violet. "How'd you get out of the house?" Ryan asks.

"Back door," Shane answers. He doesn't elaborate.

Ryan reaches over and grabs Shane's hand, holds it there against the weather-worn wood grain. Behind them the world continues on, people making their way from place to place, the music drifting out of the open door of the bar, the gulls and the laughing shouts of children, cars and buses. Everything, everything.

"Are you going to stay for a while?" Ryan whispers just as night falls.

"I'm going to do my best," Shane answers.

They walk back to the frat and Shane hesitates at the boundary; at the invisible line Ryan drew around the property in herbs and stone and water. He clutches Ryan's hand tighter for a second, just a quick squeeze. "Do you want me to come in?" he asks. Ryan nods.

"Of course, yes. You're always welcome here, Shane," Ryan says. Shane takes a deep breath, and they walk across and up onto the porch together before he lets it out in a huge sigh of relief.

He laughs, grabs Ryan by the shoulders to pull him in and kiss him deeply. "I was hoping that would work," he says when he pulls back. He says it lightly, like a joke, but Ryan can see tension in his posture and unease on his face and something like a burning want in his eyes. Ryan leans in and kisses him again, his fingers gripping into the solid length of Shane's arms. "Damn," Shane says, "I want to do a lot of bad things to you right now."

"I want you to," Ryan says. So quiet and so sudden, so much like a secret. He's scared, he's terrified, he's never wanted anything more in his life.

Shane's eyes narrow. The tension slips from his body. He reaches out and grabs Ryan's arm - his claws sliding out as he does and resting carefully against his skin - and pulls him inside, past some of the boys in the living room, straight down the hall and into Ryan's room. He hears someone wolf whistle and someone, maybe Andrew, whooping, but then the door shuts and the rest of the world falls away. Ryan's pulse is racing. He crosses his room and sits on the bed, surprised to see Shane directly in front of him when he turns. Shane rests his hands on Ryan's shoulders, gently raises one to drag the sharp point of his claw down along Ryan's jaw.

He shivers. His lips part in a gasp and the fine point traces back up his cheek enough to shift and outline them. “Shane,” he says. The way he says it; the voice that comes from his lungs and the way it hangs in the air shocks him. It surprises a noise from Shane, somewhere between a whisper and a moan; a sigh with emphasis. “Shane, Shane, Shane,” Ryan says, chanting. The sharp point fades as the claw slides back into his finger and the blunt edge, the soft pad of his fingertip slips forward and runs down along his tongue and into his mouth. On instinct Ryan’s lips slip shut around it and he sucks; teases the length of it with the tip of his tongue as Shane draws his finger back.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Shane says. His fangs are out. His horns are jutting out of his forehead, interrupting the soft ripple of his short, wavy hair. Ryan is hard enough that it hurts where he’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. "Do you know how beautiful you are, Ryan?" he asks; he says his name like he did the first night he arrived, like savouring the taste, like drinking mead. "In the pursuit of honesty, full disclosure, I only stuck around after the boys summoned me because I saw you come down the stairs."

"Really?"

"You are… a light. You're just such a bright, charming, handsome… you're a beacon, Ryan. I have never pissed off so many people in my life as I have in the last few months, just because I wanted to see you. I never thought you would, I mean I hoped but…"

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

Shane grins, his cheeks dimpling, his eyes shut content, and then he pushes Ryan's shoulders while he leans down and he straddles him. His lips crash down and the two of them are a desperate flurry of teeth and tongues; some forgotten dark language forming in the angles and pressures.

Shane pulls back to sigh, and when he opens his eyes they're pitch black pools; little lights reflecting in the dark like stars. His hips rock forward slowly and Ryan gasps as he ruts against where he's straining at his jeans. Ryan is wanton, Ryan is wanting, Ryan is waning.

He watches in fascination as Shane's clothes burn off of him, leaving him pale and naked in the moonlight. He reaches up and tangles his fingers in Shane's hair, runs his thumb along the solid, black bone of his horn. Shane pulls back just enough to grip the fabric of Ryan's shirt and tug it off over his head. His eyes wander across his skin. Ryan feels the path they trace like a sunburn. Shane reaches out, places his hands delicately with either index finger resting along the lines of his collarbones. They feel like red hot iron; like brands. His head tosses back and he moans. Shane's hands slide down and the shift of temperature makes Ryan shiver. "I won't let anything hurt you," Shane whispers, and Ryan thinks about October, about sharing a bed and falling asleep slowly.

Shane's hands end their journey and his fingertips hesitate at his fly. He looks Ryan in the eye and doesn't move until Ryan grabs his wrists and directs him. "I want you," Ryan says.

"You've got me," Shane replies. The button pops open. Shane grabs the zipper carefully and tugs down as the teeth open up one by one in the most agonizingly slow unzipping; Shane grins and his mouth is full of sharp needle-tipped fangs interlocking in a tight row. His fingertips dip inside the waistband of Ryan's underwear and he pulls them off with the jeans; both of them there, naked, bathing in the moon's pale light; Ryan's cheeks flushed and desperate pants escaping his lips and his dick hard against his stomach. Shane glances up, catches his eyes; Ryan would think he could see himself reflected in the deep pools of inky blackness, but it's just dark dark dark, all the way down.

Out of curiosity Ryan reaches up and wraps his fingers around one of Shane's horns; it's smooth and cool and black like polished obsidian, as he runs his fingers over it Shane sucks in a ragged breath and his eyes flutter shut. "You're beautiful," Ryan says. Reverent, a whisper; it echoes in the silence of the room; the stifling heat, the fear abandoned, some huge hot coal burning in his gut. Shane leans in and kisses him again. His lips slide loosely down along Ryan's cheek to his neck, his chest, down down down, into darkness as Ryan's eyes slam shut.

The two of them startle as a hugely percussive drumbeat echoes through the house, shaking the walls and rattling windows. Ryan slams his hands against his ears, and when he opens his eyes Shane is standing in the middle of the room and fully dressed again. The noise pauses, and the fear in Shane's eyes sends Ryan launching out of bed and hurriedly tugging on a pair of sweats from his floor. Cautiously, they head into the living room.

Gabe is standing on the stairs, his knuckles a white capped mountain ridge against the railing. The front windows are shattered across the floor, and Ryan backs into his room to tug on shoes.

The door is hanging off the hinges. The porch is smoking, lightly burned, a gaping maw in the center of it where the stairs were. At the end of the property, right up where the line was drawn, the man from before, from the basement, is standing primly. In front of him, almost standing on his shoes like a child dancing with her father, is a figure with short pink hair. Her sundress flutters in a breeze until it suddenly falls limp. She opens her eyes, and it’s just black black black all the way down as Ryan collapses to sit roughly on the floor, glass grinding into his legs.

"I'm impressed by the barrier, but I'm disappointed in you, Shane. What a foolish thing to do," the man says in his posh voice; there is no charm there, now, there is no affect or tone at all. "What do you think this is, kid, an afterschool day job?"

"Stay here" Shane says, as he steps out onto what's left of the porch and down into the yard. Both Gabe and Ryan ignore him. No one else is home, no one's been hurt. _Yet_ , Ryan thinks grimly.

"Oh, Ryan!" the man says around a smile, "so nice to see you again."

Ryan feels his blood run cold, and then incredibly hot. No one moves, the breeze still, no birdsongs, everything shimmering like a mirage.

The man raises his hand, toward Gabe, and Ryan pours all of his faith into the barrier. Another huge noise, smoke billowing around the man. A rippling wave upwards toward the sky. Ryan doesn't even flinch. Shane growls, says something to the man in a tongue Ryan doesn't recognize, some dark and forgotten dreamlike language; like smoke, like crackling fire.

The man replies, and then Shane takes a step back. "You've made your choice," the man says, then, "now suffer."

The wind like biting gales; Florida's dress billowing around her; the man raising both hands like he's gripping into the magic itself; Gabe's eyes on him - fear; Shane stuck still - fear; he imagines a ball of light, something pure and heavy like a star, and he holds it in his hands while it burns at the skin there; fear; movement - a birdsong - the man opens his mouth - Florida steps forward; fear, movement, Ryan hurls the light forward just as the man's fingers separate like he rends the whole barrier in half.

Ryan falls, dark all the way down, into darkness.

*

Soft ringing, like tinnitus in silence; echoing voices, fragmented and gauzy; the deep dark black of his unconscious sliding hazy around like smoke dancing in light. He feels a rumble in his chest, but hears no noise. The darkness discandies, and light floods in to drown it. Ryan’s eyes open slowly, blinking against the harshness. When he can see again, Gabe’s face is hovering over his. “Welcome back,” Gabe says, chuckling a low and stilted and awkward laugh.

Ryan sits up, grasping his head as pain floods it and nearly whites out his vision. He looks forward and sees disaster.

Around the property line there is a scorched, smoking circle. A gap right in the center of the far side, grass still pristine, breaks apart the completeness of the line. In a straight path from the broken porch is a still-smoking, simmering line of heat; a swath of land devoid of life, just dirt and smoke and wavering heat. The man is gone. The grass behind where he was standing shockingly black in a tall shape; like his shadow burned onto the ground. Shane walks forward, carrying Florida. He’s burned, burned like everything around him, his hair suddenly dark and uneven, his arms and bare chest covered in wounds that seem to stretch and tear with every movement. Like holding her is destroying him piece by piece. He gets to the porch and sets her down before collapsing next to her. Swirls of smoke rise off of him and there’s a thin stripe of shocking red dripping from his mouth down to his chest. His face is screwed up in pain, pinched and contorted. Ryan’s head throbs again.

He feels hollow; emptied out. Hunger like a canyon carving through him, exhaustion like a weighted blanket holding him still; he feels like all his blood has been drained and replaced with molasses; his legs feel boneless; all he is now is a pounding beat, the pain, the pain, the pain. “What happened?” Ryan asks, and no one speaks for a long time. Crows cry out from the trees out front.

“I think you killed my boss,” Shane says, moaning at the effort, before he slips into unconsciousness. Gabe’s hand rests on Ryan’s shoulder, half comfort and half supporting him. He brings a water bottle to Ryan’s lips and he drinks greedily, huge gulps that almost drown him.

The house is ruined; large swaths of the porch in jagged pieces, the windows along the front of the house shattered inward, the yard a smoking warzone. _No security deposit_ , Ryan thinks, _no security blanket_. He tries to laugh, but slips back down, laying on the wood and glass and leaving the pain and the fear behind. Leaving everything behind except for a single thought that echoes around and around until there’s only silence. _Please be okay_ , he thinks, over and over and over. And then not much else, just relief. Just release.

Into darkness.


	6. waking up

_“You know what,” she said, “I’m going to do one more reading for you.” Ryan looked up and away from his hands, clutched together uselessly in his lap, and met Florida’s gaze. Wren was sitting on the floor in front of the TV and playing some game. “I just have this odd feeling that I should. So get comfy.” She stood, leaving the couch and walking over to the shelf and grabbing her cards. As she went to open the deck they all spilled out across the floor and she sighed wearily. Once they were back in order, she sat in front of Ryan and shuffled again and again and again. “Okay,” she said. She drew the first card and set it down: Death. “Don’t worry. The death card means change, clearing away the old, passion and initiation in love life. Transformation.”_

_She flipped another card: Three of Cups. “This one is all about joy and energy, receiving help, and represents the end of an exhaustive or difficult period in life.”_

_She flipped another card and then stopped. Nine of Wands. “A period of emerging from struggle, being guarded and using caution about the potential for more problems to emerge. You may find it difficult to accept your accomplishments.”_

_“Only three cards this time?” Ryan asked. Wren looked back over her shoulder, her eyes caught on him for only a second._

_“That’s all you need. You’re emerging victorious, accomplishing a lot and going through changes. There may even be romance ahead for you, but you’re going to need to accept the growth you’ve undertaken and the growth that has yet to come. Change is always frightening, but you have the ability and support to come out the other side.”_

*

By the time he claws his way out of the deep and dreamless slumber, it’s dark. Dark in his room and dark outside the window. He doesn’t move for a long time, doesn’t open his eyes, just lays there and allows his thoughts to whirl and shift about. He just sees images: Florida’s eyes like black pits; Shane’s smouldering and torn skin; the man raising his hands and gripping into the barrier and Ryan feeling it like clawed fingers in his gut; pure white light.

He rolls over and finds something warm and solid, a steady weight and a rise and fall. His eyes still closed, he moves closer and puts his head on Shane’s sleeping chest and listens to his sleeping breaths and his beating heart like a reassurance.

*

_“I see something in you, Ryan. Something huge and bright. Courage and strength. You’re going to do amazing things.” Ryan looked up and away from the wood grain of the big heavy desk. Father Thomas regarded him casually, waited for a response. When none came, he sighed. “I know you are struggling right now,” he continued, “but there is a light in you that can’t be stamped out by any darkness. The only one who can dull it is you.”_

_Ryan sighed, looked past the Father and out the window. The telephone poles lined the sidewalk, the crows perched along the lines like ink stains against the sky._

_“I’m just not sure I can do it,” Ryan said._

*

He wakes up again and finds himself alone, the afternoon light filtering soft and peachy through the window. It’s warm, unseasonably so for January. At some point he kicked off his blanket. He reaches out, but his bed is empty. Finally, he opens his eyes and rubs the sleep away. He feels heavy, slow to sit up. Exhausted. His mouth is full of gauze. He aches all over, and moves in halting steps out of his room and to the bathroom.

The living room is still a disaster. He hears banging, a pounding beat that threatens to draw his headache back. The door is fixed, and after he grabs water (twice, he chugs the first glass and has to fill it again) he opens it to see Shane. He's shirtless, sweating in the sun and furiously sawing boards and nailing them in place. "Oh fuck the deck, Shane," Ryan says. His voice comes out sandpaper rough and he coughs from the scratch and strain, drinks some more water. Shane's gaze startles up, and he grins at Ryan, but then he's back to work without a word. It must be mid afternoon (Ryan has yet to check how long he's been asleep) and it looks like if he continues on this rate the deck will be done by tomorrow. 

"Can't take a break," he says, sawing away, "I never should have let this happen."

Ryan shrugs, even though Shane isn't looking at him. "Take a break anyway. Come sit with me.” He nails down a few more boards, and then he follows Ryan inside.

*

_"Does that make any sense to you?" Florida asked. Ryan shrugged. "Fear is like a split in the river…" she started to say, drifted off. She shook her head, like she was clearing away the thought. "Anyway. All this is going to work out. It's going to be fine."_

_Ryan just sank back deeper into the couch. He tipped his head back. "I'm just… I feel like there's a huge weight on my shoulders and I don't know if I can bear it."_

_"What, all those muscles just for show?" Wren said, as she won the game and dropped the controller._

*

The kitchen is silent, enough so that the low hum of the fridge seems to echo. Shane gulps down some water, eats a sandwich. They sit there for a long time. The atmosphere is thick and strange, stilted.

"He could have killed you. Or Gabe. All because I always get stir crazy and had to leave and go visit you. You bringing me back in must have poked a hole in the magic. We're lucky he missed it with his second shot." Shane keeps his eyes on the table while he speaks, won't look over. Ryan rests a hand on his knee, and watches as Shane's shoulders drop.

"So what… what happened, exactly?" Ryan asks. This gets Shane's attention.

"Basically. I defected, told my boss to eat shit, and he tried to kill us. He was trying to use Florida to break the barrier, probably. Then you… I don't know what you did. It was like you were a tank or something…"

*

_"Ryan, I don't think you understand the gravity-"_

_"No. You don't understand, Father," Ryan shouted. "I can't do this. I'm not special. This isn't… I don't have magic powers!"_

_Father Thomas just shrugged. "All around you there is light as well as darkness. Both are enormous. I think you're a lot more powerful than you think. If what you told me is true, and I believe it is, you may be one of the most advanced exorcists I've ever heard of."_

_Ryan shook his head. The crows outside on the telephone line called out, disturbed. They all took flight without warning or preamble._

*

"You just. You stared him down and you were glowing. I couldn't even look at you. But I saw him… Bozxz, I've never seen him afraid. But he was terrified. I don't think he realized how strong you were. You just… fucking vaporized him. Whatever you threw at him burned me pretty bad, just being near it."

"I don't remember. I don't know how I did it, or what I did."

Shane doesn't say anything else. He just leans over and pulls Ryan close to him, holds him for a moment. Then he heads back outside and continues working away.

*

Body heat, sunburn heat. Skin pulled tight, limbs loose, bruises on his lips. “Finally,” he gasps, “finally” he moans. He wanes and wants, his hips buck forward. Shane’s strong smooth hand, long fingers on his chest. Fog on the window. Outside the night is heavy; a movie plays loudly in the living room; Ryan's heartbeat echoes in his head.

Ten fine points, Shane's claws, drag delicately down his sides and make him moan as his back arches. Shane's weight in his lap anchors him down; he feels like he may fly away anyway. His lips part in a gasp and Shane leans down to kiss him.

"You're so beautiful," Shane says. Ryan just groans as he turns his head to bury his face in the pillow. One of Shane's hands follows the action and rests against his stubbled cheek. "You're the sun. Fuck, Ryan."

He continues then, riding him so slowly that he feels like he will combust; heat is rolling off of Shane in heavy waves; the room smells primal, like sweat and wood smoke; sweat beads on his forehead and rolls across in a sheet, a tiny flood; Shane sits up straighter and leans back, the long lines of him on display but Ryan's eyes shut tight.

He moans and Ryan echoes it. "Look at me," he says. Ryan does. His pale skin and his pitch black horns, his eyes deep pools, the gleaming fine points of his teeth.

"I'm cumming," he manages, and Shane speeds up, his head thrown back, his dick twitching in the air and spraying Ryan's stomach and chest; Ryan is helpless against the raw feeling of it and he lets go with a short, guttural shout.

“Christ, Shane,” he sighs, while Shane rolls off and to the side, breathing deeply but saying nothing. “You're gonna be the death of me."

Shane laughs, and it's a beautiful sound.

*

_Ryan shrugged, dropped his head into his hands. "I just feel like I'm being pulled in too many directions. I feel like I'm gonna buckle."_

_Florida leaned back, laid out on the floor. Her arm reached out and she poked at Wren's thigh. She laughed. "It seems to me, Ryan, like you are resisting against everything life throws your way. Be a river, my dude. If you hit a rock go around it or cleave it in half. If you hit a mountain do the same thing."_

_"Wear a wound into the earth itself," Wren said and Florida laughed._

_"That's all easy enough to say, but what am I supposed to do?" Ryan asked._

_"Fuck, I don't know. Take the devil to court or something."_

*

Ryan sighs and rolls onto his side, resting a hand on Shane's chest and breathing in the stifling hot air of the room.

"Holy fuck," Ryan says, and then chuckles, "or should I say unholy fuck?"

Shane laughs, but then twists his head to stare at Ryan. "That was rough, man. I don't know about that joke." Ryan laughs, pushes lightly at him. "I still like you though. Even if you are a dork."

Ryan gasps, laughing and pushing more insistently at Shane's shoulder, sliding him across the bed toward the wall. "I am not a dork! One bad joke, that all it takes?"

Shane shrugs, but then pulls Ryan against him and wraps his arms around tight. Up close, the heat of him is stifling sometimes; but the silk-smooth skin, the sunburn blush of his shoulders and cheeks, the perfume of him, it feels familiar to Ryan somehow. In the way you grow so fond of that one spot on the couch with the sun in the afternoon and the way your best friend's couch is the best place to sleep sometimes. Like love.

Shane's face softens, grows loose and fond, and he angles down to press a kiss against Ryan's head. Ryan sighs, content, and then drifts off to sleep feeling too too warm.

*

he becomes aware that he isn't in his room any more in a jolted, staggering realization that drives a headache through his skull. ryan goes to move and hears a distinctive rattle; the sound of bones, chains around his ankles. thorns through his hands into the table in front of him. shane by his side. "stay calm," he hears.

" **thanks for meeting me on such short notice, kids. as you can imagine I have been absolutely slammed lately. now then, shane is it?** "

his eyes startle up to the front of the room; huge stone table, huge figure sitting there, enormously long and paper thin like a shadow; a voice that echoes endlessly, the noise of it driving him mad.

“ **so, shane. you seem to have become a bit of a trouble maker. abandoning your position. moving in with humans.** ”

“true,” shane says.

“ **and this other one here, ryan, is it?** ” the shadow, the darkness, the void and vacuum; ryan’s mind feels like rending itself apart in its presence.

he can’t help himself and he feels his body move without his will and his lips move and he says, “true” as though the word rips itself from his lungs jagged and bloody.

“ **so, kids. what the fuck? right? is this a rebellion or what? ‘cause i gotta be honest here, ryan. you are something else. bozxzoth was no amateur. for a human to just wipe him out like that,** ” it interrupts itself to whistle lowly, ryan winces. “ **well it’s certainly interesting. so tell me what’s up.** ”

ryan can feel the jagged rush of words about to spill but shane speaks first. “i think i’m in love,” he says, and ryan is floored, somehow; like it wasn’t obvious, like he hadn't known, like he isn’t too; but the absurdity of the word ‘love’ being spoken aloud here, in the presence of the shadow, in the depths of Hell itself seems profane. “i hate what i’m doing here and i prefer earth and i want to stay with ryan.”

the shadow seems to shiver in place; silent laughter, quivering, shaking still like terror or rage. it shrinks down, slowly, swallowing itself, until the darkness slips oily down across the form of a beautiful creature and hangs loose like robes instead of flesh.

“facies pulcherrima cave,” ryan says automatically. the devil turns and looks at him curiously, their eyes pitch black, his face reflecting in the depth.

*

Ryan jolts upwards, feels hands slide off while grasping at him. He moves in one motion until he is standing upright six feet from his bed. He stands there panting, drenched in terror, every second of the dream replaying itself while his heart sprints. He takes a deep breath, and turns to face the bed.

Shane is stuck still, so still he looks dead, and the longer he is still the more artificial it looks until it seems like Ryan can see right through it. Then, though, he sees the shocking red. Pooling in his palms, it is only when he sees it that Ryan’s own hands throb in agony and he sees the cause, all the thorns still buried in. He cries out, and falls to sit roughly on the floor. Shane does not stir.

*

“Ryan, come on man. Say something, alright? You here?”

The voice sounds distant until it echoes into clarity. He starts, squinting his eyes against the stark fluorescent lights until they flip off. He opens his eyes and stares dully into the darkness until a second click turns on a small light by the sink. A figure sits back down in front of him, smiling nervously. “You with me, Ry?” Gabe asks.

Ryan tries to speak but coughs, a fit that wracks him and doubles him over and leaves him gasping. Gabe holds a glass of water toward him and he drinks it all. Once he sets the glass back down on the counter, Gabe’s hands grip his wrist and turn his hand gently. One of them is already bandaged, and his friend continues dabbing at the other one with antibiotic. As he leans over to grab the bandages and starts wrapping, Ryan heaves a sigh.

“Have you seen Shane?” he asks and Gabe meets his eye for a second, then returns his gaze to the bandage weaving around Ryan’s hand.

“Yes. He still hasn’t moved at all. What happened?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, doesn’t know. All he knows is fear.

The two of them walk into Ryan's room and he shakes the whole time; the last autumn leaf against howling winds; stubborn all the time.

Red. The bed is saturated, soaking in it. The two of them just stand there looking; awe and horror transfixing them. "Jesus Christ," Ryan says.

"We have to move him," Gabe answers, and to Ryan's expression answers, "charter rules. Messy things have to happen in the bathtub." His voice is dry but it comes across more brittle than deadpan.

"The boys are all out at Danny's cabin or lakehouse or whatever his bougie ass parents have. Let's just… we have to do something right? So let's do the first thing first and try to control this as much as possible."

He's right, but Ryan's eyes are stuck on Shane's face, his bright red palms. Gabe says his name, a question that comes out small and terrified. Ryan comes back to himself, feels grounded, meets Gabe's fearful gaze. "First thing first."

They grab him, Ryan's hands up under his arms, and lift on the count of three. He seems to weigh nothing. Gabe says, "light as a feather, stiff as a board," and chuckles nervously. Without a word, they carry him across the hall to the bathroom.

*

_"What happens if you lose a court case against Satan?" Ryan asked._

_Florida and Wren were silent._

*

His room feels cavernous. The whiplike noise of shaking open the trash bag echoes ominously. Mechanically, he begins stripping his bed and tossing the bedding into the bag. He lugs it out, pillows and all, and heaves it into the can at the end of the driveway. He ignores the scorched circle around the property line. Ignores the throbbing ache of his hands. And he ignores the half-rebuilt deck and the heavy fear that it will never get finished.

He walks back to his room, glancing into the bathroom to see Gabe leaned back against the tub with a thick book in his hands, stifling a yawn against his shoulder. First thing first, he thinks. His mattress is next, and he drags it off the frame onto a tarp, ignoring the stick of his bandaged hands and the red smearing onto his chest. Those come later, first thing first. He drags the mattress carefully out of the house, hucking it down onto the lawn. He ignores how impossible it is that the cops haven't shown up yet, how the house isn't far enough from campus or the neighboring houses for all this shit to have gone on unnoticed.

He stops in the kitchen, and by the sink he finally sees his reflection in the window. His face and hair are slightly singed and he has soot across his cheeks. His eyes look deep and hollow, bruised; cheeks gaunt and lips chapped. He drinks some water, and then ignores all of that and instead grabs the bleach and a sponge.

He strips off the bandages and sees that the wounds have already scarred over, and then he pulls on some gloves. He adds some bleach to a bucket of hot water and carries it to his room, where he cleans up the bed frame as best as he can and then follows the twin trails of spotty red droplets from his room and into the bathroom. Gabe slides over enough for Ryan to follow the trail along the tile and up the side of the bathtub.

"Get some sleep," Ryan says, looking at Gabe finally as he tugs off the rubber gloves and tosses them in the sink. He doesn't look in the mirror.

"Could say the same to you," Gabe says, but then he shrugs and laughs. "Wouldn't do any good, but I could say it just as easy. I'll put on some coffee." He leaves the bathroom, and then Ryan is alone with Shane.

"Damn it Shane. This is… you've… fuck I don't even know what to say. I love you too, asshole. Get back here."

Tears dance along his lashes, so he leaves the room and finds Gabe standing at the counter, a mug in his hands and one steaming next to him. They stand there a while, and then Ryan laughs. "You still got some emergency cigarettes?" he asks. Gabe shrugs.

"One or two. Certainly been that kind of night."

The night is cold and dark, a new moon, but the two men shiver on the porch with blankets wrapped over their shoulders and smoke on the jagged half-porch. “This is completely fucked,” Gabe says and Ryan nods.

“I knew this was a bad idea, knew I was walking straight into a house on fire ever since I came down the stairs and saw you guys sitting in a circle. But damn if I wouldn’t do it all again.”

Gabe’s free hand lands on Ryan’s shoulder. “What are we going to do?” he asks. Ryan shrugs.

“I might have a plan,” he answers, minutes later after snuffing out the cigarette.

*

He steps out of the shower and wraps the towel around his waist. He sits on the edge of the tub and stares down at his hands, where the scars have faded into a constellation of small pale dots on his hands. In a few hours, he suspects, they’ll have disappeared.

He stands, leaning heavily onto the counter because his legs give in with the static feeling of no circulation. He ignores the thought of how long he sat there, silent with the droning white noise of the fan. Truth be told, Ryan feels only loosely attached to himself at any given time. The whole night feels like a dream.

As he walks out into Gabe’s room, thankful for the second bathroom, he sees the man sleeping heavily, fully clothed on top of his blankets, he changes into clean (non-blood drenched) sweats and makes his way downstairs. He stares at Shane, frozen in the doorway for a long time, and then he lays down on the pristine tile floor that still smells like bleach, and falls asleep just as the sun starts to rise.

*

“Would you like a receipt?” the girl behind the counter asks. He shakes his head and shoves his card back into his pocket, hauling the huge bag over his shoulder and heading towards Ned’s truck.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, man?” Ned asks, but Ryan ignores him, carrying the new sheets and blankets and pillows across the near empty parking lot and climbing into the passenger seat.

“Shit went sideways. I need a new mattress too, if you don’t mind making another stop,” Ryan answers. He’s thankful that him and Ned are so close, sometimes, because if this were any other friend he would have to elaborate. As it is, Ned keeps shooting him quick looks at red lights, and when he pulls in at the next store he leaves the car idling and openly stares. Still, he doesn’t protest or fight it when Ryan just climbs out of the cab and makes his way in.

After that’s settled, Ned makes a detour and pulls up outside a bar. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but Ryan guesses that he owes some explanation, so he follows him in without a fight.

They finish their beers before he speaks. And once he’s told Ned everything, hushed and leaned in close at the booth, Ned orders two more.

“He still hasn’t woken up?” Ned asks, and Ryan shakes his head. He pauses the conversation while the bartender drops off the bottles, and then sighs heavily.

“I think he’s still in court or whatever. Still arguing. For what I don’t know. His life, my life, I don’t know. But I’ve got to figure it out. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

Ned stares directly into his eyes for a long time. Then he smiles. “You’re a lot braver than I thought, Ryan Bergara.”

Ryan hopes he’s right.

After Ned and Gabe help get his bed set up, they cross the hall. Ned just stares, sadly, before he says, "whatever you've got planned, count me in. I owe this motherfucker for fixing my faucet." He earns a laugh, but once he leaves the mood is somber again.

The house is cemetery quiet.

*

He can tell that they both think he's insane. Florida drinks down her entire glass of wine, and then says, "Ryan that plan is insane." He laughs. Wren however, seems to be on board.

"What else is there to do?" she asks. "Gotta just carve straight through the mountain."

"You can't be serious," Florida says, but Wren is right. There’s only one option. “Well I certainly can’t help you,” she continues. “Last time I checked my name isn’t Charon.”

Ryan shrugs. “I have to try. I have to do something. I killed his boss, so this is partly my fault. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do anything possible to try to save Wren.”

“That’s different, Ryan. That’s exactly the thing. I would try to do anything possible. I don’t think what you’re suggesting can even be done.”

_It doesn’t matter_ , Ryan thinks, _whether it’s possible or not_.

*

On his way back, he stops at the church. He thinks about how long ago October feels. Crows fly by, calling out into the winter. He makes eye contact with one that perches itself on the fence, and it stares him down silently while he walks inside.

Father Thomas turns away from the man he was talking to when he hears the door, and when he sees Ryan he excuses himself quickly. In his office, he looks uncomfortable. “What on Earth happened to you, Ryan?” he asks.

“I was on trial,” he says. Father Thomas seems surprised, and then he continues. “I spent last night in a court case against the Devil.”

The father crosses himself, seems speechless.

“You told me that I was special, right? That I could do things you didn’t think were possible? Well now I’ve got a long hard road ahead of me and I could use your help. I think I know what you meant, and I think that there’s only one way I can make all of this stop.”

“Ryan, if you’re suggesting what I think you are… I have to urge you to reconsider. You may be incredibly powerful, but we don’t yet know why you are able to do this. We don’t know why you have this ability or how it works.”

Ryan crosses his arms. Outside the window, the telephone lines are completely packed with crows. Dozen of them. Multiple murders. A damn serial killer of crows. They all seem to be staring at him, unmoving.

“I can’t exactly sit by and do nothing,” Father Thomas says. “But I don’t know what I can do to help, if I can’t discourage you.”

“If you won’t come with me, maybe you can just do me a favour,” Ryan says. He drags his duffle bag over from beside the chair, and opens it up. The father looks inside, and then meets his eye.

“You’re either a brave man or a fool,” he says, and then reaches in the bag.

*

_"You're in danger! You are putting yourself in more danger by fucking with things you don't understand and pissing off the wrong people."_

_He crossed his arms stubbornly. "Are you forgetting that I got rid of The Pale Man and not you?" he asked. There were few things Ryan hated more than feeling foolish, but feeling useless was among them._

_"I had it covered!" Shane shouted. "And I don't think you're appreciating that I'm pissing people off just by being here right now."_

_"Then why are you here?"_

_Shane just stared him down, like he didn’t know what to say. His cheeks flushed. "I don't want you to get hurt," he said finally._

_Ryan heard him correctly, but knew that what he was trying to say was ‘I love you,’ and that thought echoing in his head was so terrifying and loud that he did the only thing he ever knew how to do. He chased him away._

*

He zips the duffle bag closed again, maybe an hour later, and looks up to meet the Father’s eye. Ryan reaches into his pocket and hands him an envelope. “If you don’t see me again, make sure this makes it to my folks, alright?” he says. Thomas looks like he’d rather grab Satan’s hand for an introduction than take the letter, but he does anyway. Ryan looks out the window behind him, and something in his expression must read clearly because the Father turns automatically, shoving the letter in his pocket and backing towards the door with Ryan.

Now, the scene outside the window is filled with a black inkstain of crows. At once they take off, and come crashing straight through the window into the office. He can hardly hear Thomas’ shout of surprise, as he moves them back through the door and into the lobby, the two of them forcing the door shut against the onslaught of wing and claw.

He sighs, turning to lean against the door and heave a sigh of relief, when he pushes Thomas to the ground just as the man he had been talking to when Ryan arrived lunges forward, burying a knife into the thick wood of the door. Ryan reaches out, staring the stranger in his pitch black eyes, and places his hand on the man’s forehead. “Eicio,” he says, and the man’s eyes slip back to green as he passes out.

“Are you absolutely certain about this, Ryan?” Father Thomas asks. Ryan doesn’t answer. There’s no time for certainty. He must be a river.

*

He’s sitting in the living room, staring down at the floor. Gabe is on the couch, sitting between Danny and Andrew. Lloyd is on the floor. Across from Ryan, Ned, Florida, and Wren are spread out across the rest of the chairs.

“I can’t ask any of you to come with me. There’s no guarantee this will even work, or that I’ll make it back.”

The group is quiet, but then Wren says, “fuck it. I’m going anyway.” There’s a chorus of agreement, but Ryan shakes his head.

“Don’t make this decision lightly,” Ryan says. “You know what I’m asking of you.”

“Look,” Ned says, “this is all of our problem, okay? We care about you, dude. And Shane.”

Ryan smiles, but he can tell it’s thin. He sees six reflections of his own fearful face, six people willing to put everything on the line to help him. Six of the people he loves most in the world. It does not kill the fear, but it muffles it.

*

_"I had a dream that this all was a dream," Ryan said, "I'm afraid.” Shane's hand slid along to rest on his chest, against his heart. "I'm afraid of you, and I'm afraid of this. What do you want? Why are you here?"_

_"I'm here because they summoned me," Shane said._

_"That's not what I mean," Ryan said, his voice hardly above a whisper._

_"I'm here because I like you, you dense adorable idiot. There's more to you than I thought."_

_"I'm afraid of that, too," Ryan said._

_"I think your problem is that you think about fear too much," Shane mumbled. Ryan sighed, turning onto his side to face Shane. His eyes slid open, but he didn’t move._

_“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just… afraid of getting hurt.” He danced around what he wanted to say; avoided the words as much as he could._

_“I won’t let anything hurt you,” Shane said. It sounded like ‘I trust you,’ it sounded like ‘I need you,’ it sounded like ‘I love you.’ It sounded like all of the things Ryan was too afraid to say. Shane fell asleep, and Ryan fell into a fitful nightmare. All the time, Shane’s arms held him tight._

*

The seven of them gather in the bathroom. The smell of bleach has faded, but the copper smell of blood sits heavy in the air. Ryan sits on the edge of the bathtub, his duffle bag on his lap, and reaches one hand out to the group. One by one, Gabe, Florida, Ned, Wren, Danny, Andrew, and Lloyd reach out to grab his arm tightly. He leans back, reaching his other arm down into the thick hot blood, and he grabs onto Shane’s stiff hand. He remembers when they had tried to summon Shane, when he had seen him so clearly and Shane had seemed to look at him. He pictures his face, his body, he pictures him as clearly as he can, and with a sound like air rushing out and the feeling of the wind being knocked out of you; the seven of them fall.

*

when he opens his eyes, he feels instantly like he’s made a horrible mistake. the seven of them stand, awestruck, terrified, in the middle of a great plain. the ground is ash and bits of brick and sharp, jagged stones. winds howl constantly, hot putrid winds that smell like woodsmoke and meatsmoke; cinders drift along in the wind and carry a droning noise of ancient screams still echoing. crumbling towers and distant shrieks, noises like crows tearing each other apart. none of them move for a long time, until florida says, “six o’clock,” and they all turn in unison.

in the distance, an enormous and featureless building. between it and them, miles of fetid wasteland. ryan feels a cinder from the air catch on his cheek and burn through, but he hardly notices. he feels the magnetic draw toward the building before he even registers the figure approaching them on the back of a pale horse.

he unzips the duffel bag and drops it in the center of their group. everyone reaches in, and pulls something out.

bats, knives, improvised spears. the bats driven through with nails, all of the weapons blessed by father thomas, handles wrapped in herbs and blades soaked in sage smoke. ryan grabs a few small things out from the side pocket and tosses them into his pockets, then they move forward as a group.

the rider drops off of his horse and stares them down; its eyes black and its face a horrid grinning mask. it holds up a horn and blows into it; the noise is enough to make him stumble back but nothing is stopping him now that he’s here. he shoulders the bat and holds up his free hand, says, “potentia,” and the rider is pushed back by a mighty gale, dropping the horn to drift away behind it. it grins wider, and then the battle begins.

he has no idea what to expect as he rushes forward, hurling his momentum in an arc through his arm; the demon’s grinning face collapsing like papier mache under the weight of the blessed object seems to give them all a seconds pause and then a surge of confidence. they rush forward, past the screeching form of the demon and the horse that takes off in fear. they rush toward the building and watch it rise higher, looming over the horizon. brick by brick, no windows or doors to speak of.

“watch out,” wren says as a figure swoops down from the thick black clouds above them. ryan looks up and sees more following in its wake. as the first demon approaches, wren stabs upward with her spear and rips into its gut, spilling the black ichor as it collapses into the ash. the rest of the demons scream and dive faster, but they are all prepared and continue making their way forward as they cut and bash their way through the crowd.

by the time the building is looming up ahead of them the ash in the air is burning their eyes and the putrid smell of death sticks to their noses and mouths. “how do we get in?” ned asks.

ryan just meets his eye and then turns back to the sheer face of the brick, placing his palm against it. “potentia,” he says, and the wall explodes inwards. they move in, and as the smoke clears they all pause and lower their weapons. a demon behind a desk pauses, lowering a phone from its ear. it tosses its hair back and says, “y’all have an appointment?” dully. then, it seems to catch the smell of them on the air and pulls the phone back up, says, “i’m going to have to put you on hold.”

“if you don’t have an appointment you’ll have to wait with the rest of the drop-ins. the current wait time is four-to-six millenia,” the demon says.

“go fuck yourself. i’m here to see the devil,” ryan says, brandishing his bat.

“whatever, head on through, i don't get paid enough for this.” the demon says before picking the phone back up, “sorry about the wait, how may i direct your call?”

the stairs seem endless, but once they entered the building it seemed like all resistance ended. the ease at which they’ve stormed Hell itself is sitting jagged against ryan’s brain. he doesn’t even care if something is off, if this is a trap, his only thought is for shane and the people around him. he’ll crack the skull of every demon in the place if he has to.

at the top of the stairs, he tries to offer some water over but it seems to have evaporated out of the bottle. he shrugs, setting the bottle down, and watches with curiosity as it bends and melts in the heat. this floor seems to just be an enormous room, just one huge space so dimly lit that he can’t see the ceiling or any other wall. a light flicks on in the middle of the room, and he sees a long table drift in and out of the beam of light as the chandelier swings back and forth. up here the wind is stronger, and even through the brick they can hear it howling like the screams of the damned. as the light swings one way ryan catches sight of a pale figure, hunched over like it’s in the midst of feeding. he calls out, and when it turns to look the light behind it sways over and reveals soft, messy brown hair, and two black horns, and the face of shane, unconscious on the table.

“give me shane, now,” he says. his voice echoes in the huge space. in an instant, the pale man is right in front of him, blood-soaked fangs dripping greedily. “court adjourned, asshole.”

It laughs, a deep chuckle, and then reaches out toward him. as its hand grows closer, ryan can feel the heat like an open oven in front of him. there is a whooshing noise and a flash of silver, and the demon’s hand drops to the ground in front of them. it just looks at it, curious, seemingly entertained. ned holds his knife at the ready, and the rest of them behind him take up arms.

it laughs, a sickening wet noise, and bends over before picking up the lost limb and examining it carefully. ryan feels the tension mounting, and as it drops the pale, bleeding hand, he takes a single step back toward his friends. the demon holds up a finger, seeming to count them out in turn.

it’s eyes are aiming off behind ryan’s shoulder. ryan hears someone drop, hears gasps and shouts and surprise, but everything is eclipsed by seeing shane over the pale man’s shoulder, free from his chains and standing by the table. ryan drops the bat and holds up his hands.

as he tries to focus, the demon’s attention turns back to him, and it moves to step forward when shane grabs it from behind. ryan’s vision is going white; his body is giving off a glow, he can feel something burning its way through his veins and toward his hands. the pale man shifts to the side and grabs shane, tossing him off into the darkness. ryan says, “deleo,” and the pale man screams out as it is bathed in holy light and burns away to ash.

he drops his hands to his side, turns to see the damage and drops to his knees. as he stares at the body on the ground in front of him a tear slides down his cheek, but it evaporates before it can even reach his chin. he screams, and it seems to rend the whole world in half.

*

He comes back to himself suddenly, feeling motion sick and hearing a howling wind. Five people fling backwards away from him, to the floor or out the door. One lies still on the pristine white floor. The water comes on, flowing out of the sink and the tap in the tub and the showerhead all at once. From behind him, Shane comes up coughing. He turns to look and watches as the water runs red, dripping off of him and taking the blood with it. In seconds the bathtub is clean and Shane is sitting there, dumbfounded and soaked through with steaming water. The taps turn off, and Ryan surges forward to grab him tight and hold him close, his head buried in his chest, and his tears drifting off his cheeks as steam before they ever reach Shane’s skin.

On the floor behind him, Ned lies still and pale and cold.

*

On halting legs, he makes his way back to the church. The window into Father Thomas’ office is boarded up. He walks in and makes his way straight back, walking in and shutting the door behind himself. The Father looks up, his eyebrows knit together in worry.

“Oh, thank God. I was beginning to think I would never see you again,” he says. Ryan just collapses into a chair, his head in his hands, and cries again. He feels like he must be running out of tears, must be nearly wrung-out and emptied of sorrow, but the guilt keeps wracking him.

“Father, I…” he starts. Thomas rests a hand on his shoulder, and the weight seems enough to crush him. “One of my friends is dead, because I had to drag him into all of this. It’s all my fault.”

The old man heaves a sigh that contains volumes, that sings elegies to lost friends. Without saying a word he speaks a thousand eulogies. “This work, what you’re getting into. This isn’t something you can dip your toe into, son. You dive headlong. There’s no choices here, and there’s no turning back. You’re going to have to visit a lot of graves over the years. What happened to your friend?”

Ryan sighs. “The Pale Man. Got him before I could kill it. He saved my life and…” he breaks off. His voice is jagged, his heart feels jagged; the whole world stabbing at him.

“Okay, but what happened to him?” Thomas asks, again.

“Paramedics said it looked like a stroke. His family was notified. Just… a freak accident. God he's laying in the morgue right now.”

*

_His throat felt like he’d swallowed swords; lord he wished he had. He cried out again anyway. Shane’s hands grappled around his shoulders but they felt like ropes, they felt like chains; oh God why was he the only one screaming._

_He tried to dive to the ground again. He felt like what he was saying before he screamed was that he had to go back, he had to head into Hell and find him._

_“Ryan, Ryan, please,” Shane said. All around him, terrified people. “They can’t call for help unless you quiet down-”_

_“What the fuck is 911 going to do to help?” Ryan yelled._

_Shane finally got a firm grip and started walking him away, out of the bathroom, stepped over Ned’s body and then lifted Ryan bodily to move him into the hallway. Ryan swung out, hitting Shane’s chest repeatedly while the demon carried him away, outside and into the back yard._

_The night air shocked him silent, and the fight seemed to leave him at once. “Ryan,” Shane said, but he didn’t answer._

*

“Ryan, I’m sorry for your loss,” Thomas says while Ryan walks away. He hesitates outside, eyes a crow wearily from across the street, and then walks in the opposite direction.

*

_“There has to be something we can do-” Ryan whispered. As he looked up he saw Shane’s expression and stopped abruptly, his teeth clicking together._

_“You shouldn’t have done anything in the first place. Fuck, this is all my fault,”_

_“Shane, no. This is my-”_

_“Ryan shut up! Listen! I involved all of you by sticking around at all. I drew attention, I pissed off the wrong people, and both of us are still here but this is not a victory. I... I was stupid enough to become bait and lead you into a trap. You realize that right? You were supposed to die in that room and you would have if it wasn’t for Ned.”_

_The exhaustion caught up with him, and just as he thought he couldn’t possibly go on, it started to rain._

*

Maybe Ryan had made some mistakes in his life. Moving so far away for college? A mistake. Breaking up with his ex by sending her a text at three in the morning from another girl’s apartment? Mistake. Falling in love with a demon? Jury still out, but it isn’t looking good.

But this, this. The weight of it is like a blanket of frost. He walks through the afternoon and for the hundredth time that hour he remembers that he won’t laugh with Ned ever again. He wants to cry, but it starts to rain. And as he pauses there on the sidewalk, looking up at the grey of the sky and feeling the rain on his face, he thinks that maybe this counts. Maybe he doesn’t have to cry this time, and someone else will do it.

He hopes against all else that he can find something to fill up that gaping hole in his chest other than anger. Anger’s never suited him.

*

_"I love you too," he said. Quietly. "It isn't the time but… that's no guarantee anymore."_

_"Come here," Shane said, and Ryan did. And Shane held him in the yard for hours and then walked him inside to try to get him to sleep._

_The house was cemetery quiet._

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Random EMO Top Line Generator by EURINGER
> 
> Part one of the Untitled Infernal AU.
> 
> Enormous thank you to @AbovetheRuins and @matterbaby for letting me scream about this story for literal months, and to all of you. If you're reading this, I love you.


End file.
